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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555637">The Dangers of Fair Maidens in Silver Crowns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/drearyabi/pseuds/drearyabi'>drearyabi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dangers of Fair Maidens (A Sansa Stark story) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Sansa Stark, Braime - Freeform, Character Death, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Major character death - Freeform, Married Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Character Death, POV Sansa Stark, POV Tyrion Lannister, Sanrion Appreciation Week, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Warg Sansa Stark, sanrion - Freeform, season 7-8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:01:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>146,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/drearyabi/pseuds/drearyabi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sansa on the throne in the North and Daenerys arriving in Dragonstone, Westeros awaits the prophesied Long Night. Elsewhere in Westeros, Myrcella must secure her position on the Iron Throne whilst Ellaria Sand plots her revenge from Dorne. In a time of great unity, cracks in alliances begin to show. </p><p>Alternate universe in which Joffrey didn't die during his wedding and Sansa wasn't shipped to the Boltons. A fix-it for the last two seasons of the show, using features of the books to tie together the forgotten story lines. </p><p>Check out part 1: The Dangers of Fair Maidens in Pretty Dresses</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy/Margaery Tyrell, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dangers of Fair Maidens (A Sansa Stark story) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Snake, the Wolf and the Dragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ser Arys Oakheart found Ellaria Sand waiting for him in the Prince’s solar, overlooking the gardens below. She stood at the window, her back to him, her short dark hair leaving much of her tanned back bare. He had requested to see Prince Doran but the Prince’s brother’s whore awaited him instead. During his stay in Dorne, he’d been under the impression that Ellaria wasn’t fond of him. <em> The feeling is perfectly mutual.  </em>In the rest of Westeros, she’d be nothing but a common whore, comely but too harsh to ever be considered a great beauty. In Dorne, she held too much influence, just because she’d birthed some of Oberyn’s daughters. </p><p>‘Ser Arys?’ She spoke without turning to see him, ‘have you returned with our Lion princess?’ Ellaria was never fond of Myrcella either- she shared her hatred of Lannisters with her paramour but at least Oberyn had been kind to the princess while she was around. He’d never seen Ellaria smile at either of them. <em> Can snakes smile?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>She is the Queen, now. The King perished and she decided to take her rightful place.’  </p><p>Ellaria let out a light chuckle and span in her sandals to meet him, her light dress flowing gracefully with her. At his appearance she raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your white plate. Did she strip you of your title?’  </p><p>‘She relieved me of it. She sent me back here.’ He took a moment to look down upon himself. He had dressed in some of the old clothes he had kept from before his ascension to the Kingsguard. It was almost uncomfortable to be wearing Oakheart colours again but his Queen had ordered it –<em> I could never refuse her. ‘ </em>I’m looking for Princess Arianne, have you seen her? I asked some of her companions but they weren’t certain.’  </p><p>The sand-woman tilted her head to the side. ‘So, the gallant knight had returned for his Lady love? How sweet.’ She said in a sing-song voice, her mouth turning into a cruel smile. ‘Unfortunately, you just missed her.’  </p><p>Ser Arys started forward, ‘where is she? I can catch up, surely?’  </p><p>Ellaria’s expression soured and her smile fell away. ‘She’s with her father.’ </p><p>‘And, where is he?’ Arys was becoming tired of this woman’s charade.  </p><p>‘Dead.’ She said the word so simply, her hand swooping down and swiping at the dust on a nearby desk. <em> She looks bored.  </em> </p><p>‘Dead? How could that-’ he paused as it fell on him. ‘Arianne?’ </p><p>‘I’m sorry, good knight, you were just too late. If you’d arrived just yesterday...no, it’s not good to dwell on what might have been. It’s a terrible loss to all of Dorne.’  </p><p><em> My love, my princess, dead? I should never have let her stay here when we went to Kings Landing. I had so much more I wanted to tell her.  </em> </p><p>‘Who did this?’ His voice trembled. His arms had fallen by his sides helpless. He went to find a chair to fall into.  </p><p>‘Me.’  </p><p>‘What?’ At once he jumped forward, drawing his sword. ‘Is this some cruel joke?’  </p><p>‘No joke, good ser.’ She placed her finger on the tip of his blade and pushed it aside. Her dark eyes were near black as she slithered towards him. ‘Doran was too weak to do anything, his whole life. It made me <em> sick  </em>to look at him, stuck in his chair while his brother brought his family honour. My Oberyn was the greatest thing Dorne has ever seen yet he was the one to die while the fat Prince got to live on? He heard about his brother’s death and said there was nothing to be done. He knew the risks of battle and died honourably.’ She threw her head back in a cackle and drew a deep breath. ‘How is it the Red Viper of Dorne, my love, one of the greatest swordsmen in the realm lives his life without barely a scratch but is felled before he can even go into battle?’ </p><p>‘I grieve with you, my Lady. I didn’t even know he had fallen.’  </p><p>Ellaria sneered at that, unsheathing a dagger and thrusting it in his direction. ‘You know nothing of my love. You were a foreigner here; you could not care for his death.’  </p><p>He raised his arms against her. ‘Why Arianne? Did she see what you did?’  </p><p>‘No.’ She retracted the knife, playing with the point on her finger. ‘We had a little disagreement. It’s funny, the girl berates her father all her life for not doing enough for her dead Aunt but when a crime is committed against her Uncle, she opts for peace. My love is dead because of that Lannister whore Sansa Stark but the Princess urged us to support the wolves. I couldn’t let that happen.’ Her smile was sickening.  </p><p>‘Why shouldn’t I kill you now. What you’ve done is treason and-’ His voice cracked, his arm was trembling.  </p><p>Her eyes flashed darkly. ‘Because if you don’t, your Myrcella’s reign will be swift and short, though I can’t promise the same for her death. The lioness idolises the Northern bitch and I can’t have her influencing Trystane, you must understand. You kill me now? One of my daughters will make the journey to Kings Landing before nightfall.’ She turned the knife on him again, he noticed its handle was decorated with twined snakes. ‘The question is, why shouldn’t I kill <em> you </em>?’ </p><p>She was on him before he could lift his sword to meet her. He was completely numb which made it child’s play for her to force him down into a seat and straddle his lap, blade pressed against his throat. <em> I cannot answer her. I left Arianne and left  </em> <em> Myrcella </em> <em>  and now one is dead and the other will  </em> <em> probably </em> <em>  soon join her. </em> </p><p>He looked her in the eye, his vision blurring slightly. ‘Do it.’ He ordered through clenched teeth. ‘End me now, I’ll only be a complication in the future. I’ll tell the world what you’ve done.’ <em> I have nothing else to live for now.  </em> </p><p>She sat backwards, in thought. Her weight shifted on him and he thought she was moving to get off. </p><p>‘Okay.’  </p><p>Instead she pressed closer to him and, in a single flick her wrist, she drew her blade across his neck. In horror, his eyes grew wide as she smiled above him. She moved her knee from his side and he wrenched his arm free, desperately clinging to his neck as blood drenched his doublet. She tossed the knife across the room and, spluttering, he reached forward and closed his fingers around her neck. He could feel the strength sapping out with every wash of blood through his fingers but he put everything into squeezing her pretty throat.  </p><p>His vision was fading but he could just see her clawing at his hand, her head thrown backwards, fighting for air. Strangely, he felt no pain but instead welcomed death. <em> I will die content knowing I brought her with me.  </em> Ellaria Sand was still choking on top of him but his fingers were losing their grip as his strength faded.  <em> Just a few more seconds, then I can be with Arianne.  </em> </p><p>His hand fell limp to his side.  </p><p>Ellaria Sand sucked in the air desperately after he released her. Falling from the chair and crawling towards the knife she had so carelessly thrown away. Still clutching at her throat, she took hold of the dagger and held it tight against her chest. She couldn’t be sure he was dead, he’d held on longer than she was expecting. After several minutes of silence, she picked herself up and brushed down her skirts, cursing herself for the dark red stains ruining the sheer material. She set the blade down and returned to the window. A group of gardeners were trimming a rosebush.  </p><p>After a while she grew bored of their menial labouring and turned to the desk where a half-written letter awaited her. She read through what she had already penned.  </p><p><em> To my dearest  </em> <em> Tyene </em> <em> ,  </em> </p><p><em> The Martell’s have fallen in Dorne, it is time to take action. Sansa Stark must die. Do not speak a word of this to your sisters. </em> </p><p>She settled down upon the chair, picked up her quill and continued where she had left off. </p><p><em> Bring me her head.  </em>  </p><p> </p><p>Arya Stark practically skipped along the road from the Twins. All she could think of were the lines of spluttering bodies collapsing into their plates as well as the warm blood gushing from Walder Frey’s wrinkly neck. She wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced such pleasure in her life. <em> I doubt mother or Robb would agree with my methods but at least they can rest easy now.  </em> </p><p>She wondered what the people of Westeros would think when they discovered a hall full of dead Freys- dead Freys all missing faces. Before leaving she’d taken her pick, filling her pack to bursting with new visages for her to try. She’d stolen plenty from the Faceless Men but now she was in Westeros, she needed Westerosi features to avoid questions. She hoped she wouldn’t need any disguises for the next section of her journey. </p><p><em> I’ll find Jon at Castle Black and I’ll stay there with him for a while. He’ll help me plan my next moves.  </em> </p><p>Her list of names still weighed on her mind but the ones she’d already crossed off lightened her load. <em> I won’t be still till Cersei Lannister is dead. And the Hound </em> ,  <em> The Red Woman,  </em> <em> Beric </em>  <em> Dondarion </em> <em> ,  </em> <em> Thoros </em> <em>  Of  </em> <em> Myr </em> <em> , Illyn Paine and The Mountain.  </em> </p><p>Arya walked the Kingsroad through the swamp of the Neck. When she’d travelled with Hot Pie and Gendry, they’d kept as far from the main road as possible and far from keeps as well. Several carts passed her on her way but nobody paid her any mind. The war was over in these parts, as far as she could tell, and no one was looking for the missing Stark girl anymore. <em> Would they even  </em> <em> recognise </em> <em>  me in the North? I was a girl when I left but now-  </em>She hadn’t thought much about herself in Bravos. With the Faceless Men she wasn’t Arya of House Stark anymore, she was whoever they needed her to be. Thoughts of herself had to be put aside but now she was free of them and back in her own shoes, she began to consider who she’d become in her absence.  </p><p>She knew herself to be shorter than some women but not so short as to be freakish. Sansa had always grown twice as fast as Arya but now she was certain she had almost reached the height her mother had been. Her hair remained as mousey as it had always been but, after not being cut for several months, it was longer than it had ever been. <em> If it wasn’t for the rest of me, I’d look like a real Lady.  </em>She scoffed at that, aware of her faded brown Bravvosi tunic and breeches, the layer of dirt she carried with her and the blood on needle.  </p><p>Still, her face was that of a woman grown, even if the rest of her wasn’t. She’d only really noticed it on her first night back in Westeros as she cleaned herself in a shallow stream. As she splashed the fresh water onto her face, she caught her reflection as the water settled and was struck still by it. She hardly recognised it as her own. In her mind she was still Arya Horseface, features not quite matching up with one another. Her face seemed to have settled, however, her eyes no longer appeared too large, her nose a fitting size for her head, her lips full but not too wide. <em> This is the face of Arya of House Stark. I left ‘no one’ behind in the East.  </em> </p><p>It wasn’t long before she reached Moat Cailin, the keep controlling the flow of travel across the Causeway. Only when she stood before it did she realise she had no idea who controlled it anymore. <em> I’ve been gone too long. I shall have to wear a face.  </em>She made a small camp in a hidden jut of hill out of sight where she selected a homely face, arranging herself and her belongings to appear that of a merchant travelling to White Harbour.  </p><p>‘What business do you have in the North?’ A burley solider stopped her before she passed under the keep. His hair was dark and chopped short, his eyes a deep brown and his skin well-tanned. From his appearance and the burning sun sigil at his breast she knew him to be Dornish.  </p><p>‘I’ve goods to sell in the Harbour, ser.’ She imitated a Riverlands accent. </p><p>The Dornishman cast his eyes over her. ‘What are you selling? We’ve had word to be careful who we send through. The Queen doesn’t want any spies passing into her lands.’  </p><p><em> Since when did Cersei Lannister give a shit about the North?  </em>Arya wondered. She nodded to the solider and opened her pack to him.  </p><p>‘Linens?’ He pilfered through the first few layers of fabrics. </p><p>‘Aye. My family run a mill and my mother is a seamstress.’ She’d packed the faces beneath layers fabric. She’d picked up a fine cloak from the Freys and had ripped it up to form the ‘linens’. She was glad her lie was enough- if he’d dug any deeper, he would have reached into the flesh that lined the bottom of the bag.  </p><p>Satisfied, he stood aside and gestured for her to cross the causeway. ‘Safe travels young one.’ He called as she passed. She was half-way across when she found she couldn’t leave the keep without sating her curiosity. <em> The  </em> <em> Dornish </em> <em>  do not belong up here, they would not serve the  </em> <em> Lannisters </em> <em>  so easily.  </em> </p><p>A young gentleman, a squire perhaps, was darting through the stream of merchants and traders passing through and Arya found herself catching up with him and meeting his step.  </p><p>‘I’m sorry, good ser-’ she began, knowing full well he was far from a knight, ‘could you tell me who’s seat this is? I’ve been asked to deliver some goods to the Lord her but I want to address him properly.’  </p><p>The boy briefly looked up but continued his pace. ‘There’s no Lord here, miss. Dornish are holding the keep for the Queen. The real Lords were forced out years ago.’  </p><p>Arya took a look around, the men walking around were not all Dornish, nor all men. A group of warriors stood out from the rest, clad in greens and browns from their dark hair to their mud-caked boots. They kept to themselves and earnt strange looks from the Southerners. </p><p>‘Crannogmen.’ The squire explained, following her gaze. ‘Most went North with the Prince but some stayed here to hold the keep with us. Strange people.’  </p><p>‘Prince Doran?’ She asked but the boy only chuckled in response, handing a piece of parchment to a passing solider.  </p><p>‘The fat Prince is still in Dorne. No, Prince Oberyn led half the men North. They’ll be returning here soon, but without him.’ His face shallowed. ‘Our Prince died in the battle. Dorne will never forget him.’  </p><p>‘Battle?’ She didn’t care much about his fat and dead princes. She quite liked dead princes.  </p><p>‘Where have you been? Battle of the Bastards they call it. Starks fought the flayers for Winterfell.’  </p><p><em> A Bastard Stark? It has to be Jon! </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Did they win?’ She looked to him hopefully.  </p><p>‘Did they win? Do you think we’d still be here is the Bolton’s won? Do you think the Queen would be the Queen if she couldn’t claim her own castle?’ He shook his head with a pitying smile.  </p><p><em> He thinks me stupid. If he looks at me like that again he’ll lose an eye.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Queen Cersei?’  </p><p>‘Queen Cersei? Now you must be fooling me.’ He waited for a reaction but she kept silent and he sighed. ‘Not Queen Cersei, Queen Sansa. If you’re looking to sell your goods anywhere, start with her. Any more questions? I am very busy.’  </p><p><em> As busy as a messenger boy can be. He could be replaced by a raven and things would probably get done a lot quicker.  </em> </p><p>She didn’t reply, picking up her feet and crossing the last few yards of the causeway, pushing past a group of merchants in an argument over a toppled cart. She stepped over the fallen goods, scooped up an apple that had rolled out of a crate and skipped away. When she could break away from the steady stream of people marching North, she set down her belongings and removed the merchant’s face, flexing her own features as the cold air struck them. She looked towards the Kingsroad stretching out before her.  </p><p><em> Some hundred leagues in that direction, Winterfell is waiting. My sister is a Queen, my brother a battle-hero and my home will be my home once again. My place is by their side.  </em> </p><p>As she picked herself up and re-joined the path, she said the words aloud. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow The Lone Wolf dies but the pack survives.’ Winter had definitely fallen; it was time for the lone wolf to find her pack once again.  </p><p> </p><p>Tyrion met her in the throne room of Dragonstone, the great stone chair looming on the dais. When they’d arrived, the whole castle had nearly fallen to ruin. It seemed no one had dared enter to clean or maintain the island keep so they found it smothered in layers of dust, the stone crumbling. Tyrion had seen the disappointment in Daenerys’ eyes, even if she’d done a fair job at disguising her voice. His first job had been to get the more frequented rooms cleaned and tidied. Looking around, he was rather proud of his work.  </p><p>‘You’ve done a good job.’ She made her way across the room to him, turning her head from side to side to take in the expansive room.  </p><p>‘It’s no Red Keep but, it has its charms.’ In truth the entire castle had been built in a deep grey stone and the throne room was no exception. With the burning stags of Stannis Baratheon torn down from the walls and despite the fresh rushes, the room felt cold and unwelcome. <em> When she sits on that throne it will light up.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘Nothing  </em>can compare to the Red Keep.’ </p><p>He didn’t want to tell her how foul King’s Landing truly was. He could tell her about the streets of rotting shit, the buildings crammed with several peasant families, the thief and rapists prowling the wharfs or the Red Keep itself, stinking of poison and lust.  </p><p>‘You have your armies, you have your ships, you have your dragons. That Keep is yours for the taking.’ He watched her carefully. ‘Are you afraid?’  </p><p>Hesitantly she nodded, her violet eyes swimming in thought. He wished he could delve into her mind, find the source of what had driven her this far and bottle it. Kings would come from near and far for just a drop of that elixir. <em> Or perhaps I’ll keep it for myself and finally get all I’ve ever wanted to do done.  </em> </p><p>‘Good.’ He smiled. <em> Haven’t I been here before with Sansa? Didn’t she wear the same look of terrified excitement before she fled King’s Landing? ‘ </em>You’re playing the only game that matters now, frankly I’m scared for you.’  </p><p>‘You don’t believe in me?’ For a moment he feared she seriously doubted his loyalties but a smile overcame her firm expression when she saw him panicking.  </p><p>‘I’ve never believed in someone as much as I believe in you. It’s embarrassing really. I’d swear you my sword but I don’t actually have one.’  </p><p>‘I don’t want your sword.’ Her eyes were soft. He rarely saw that in her. ‘I have enough of those, too much perhaps. It is your counsel I need.’ He knew she would have traded all the swords currently scattered on the ships and throughout the castle for those that she’d left behind. Daario had remained in Meereen to oversee the formation of the new Council and she’d cast Ser Jorah out for spying for Varys long before Tyrion had reached Meereen. Then she’d lost Ser Barristan to the Sons of the Harpy not long before they departed for Westeros. He knew she grieved the most for his death- the old knight who travelled the East to meet with her, who told her stories of her brother and gave her sage counsel. They all knew her invasion would always result in causalities but he saw the pain in her eyes whenever they were mentioned, even if she pretended not to care.  </p><p>‘It’s yours. Now and always.’ His eyebrows dipped as he tried to offer her a sympathetic look. As always, her pain never showed on her face.  </p><p>‘I had something made for you.’ She admitted searching a pocket sewed into the lining of her deep grey cloak. She bit her lip in concentration as she fumbled around for it. Tyrion could have sworn she looked nervous. ‘I’m not sure if its right.’  </p><p>Once she had what she was seeking, with slightly trembling hands, she reached out towards Tyrion, one hand taking hold of his doublet and holding him still. With an eyebrow raised he watched her pin something to him, her brow furrowed in concentration as she secured it. When she stood backwards, he looked down upon himself, his hand reaching upwards to trace the silver metalwork. </p><p><em> I know this pin. I’ve worn it once before. I wore it on behalf of my father but I made it my own. The one I wore was golden but this is different. I like the silver better.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Tyrion Lannister,’ she began, calling out as if to an audience, ‘I name you hand of the Queen.’  </p><p><em> I- </em> </p><p>He tilted his head upwards to meet his gaze, half expecting to find a mocking sneer. She was smiling down up him, her eyes wide and expectant. As he fell upon his knees, he felt the tears well up and he blinked quickly to fight them off. He didn’t know what to say, his mind had left him; he looked up to her once more and his mouth erupted into a laugh. She soon began to join in too.  </p><p><em> Here we are:  </em> <em> The </em> <em>  Dragon Queen and the Dwarf of House Lannister about to change the world. We sit on a stone rock in the sea with an army of eunuchs and no allies on the mainland. The Gods have a strange sense of humour indeed.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>‘Lord Varys.’ </p><p>‘Has Lord Tyrion gone, my Queen?’  </p><p>Daenerys Targaryen had taken her place upon the stone throne, upon stone steps in the stone hall. <em> Were my ancestors truly this boring to think this a hall fit for royalty?  </em>She shuffled on the hard seat, reminding herself to fetch some cushions. </p><p>‘The <em> Lord Hand </em> has things to attend to.’ They both knew he was wouldn’t be around or else this meeting wouldn’t be happening.  </p><p>‘You finally did it? Was he glad for the position? Some would say it’s a cursed office.’ Lord Varys was wrapped in a thick cotton shawl against the draughts.  </p><p>‘And yet he’s already survived it once. I have faith in him.’ She moved in place again, eager to hear his news and retire to her feather bed and soft chairs.  </p><p>‘And how long will our charade continue? You and I both know it cannot survive much longer, especially with him as your Hand. When he finds out that you have kept this from him-’  </p><p>‘I know what the consequences will be.’ She replied impatiently. ‘I’d rather a lifetime of anger than a second of disloyalty. He will be upset but he will get over it. Now what news do you have?’  </p><p>‘The news has been flooding in from my little birds since we docked, my Queen. I will present most to the council tomorrow but there is news of Sansa Stark and the North.’ </p><p>‘Go on.’ <em> The Spider does like to talk, doesn’t he? </em>  </p><p>‘They’ve taken Winterfell from the Boltons. The Bastard is awaiting execution. Her half-brother Jon Snow who was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch until recently led the men and she led the Dornish relief.’  </p><p><em> She fought? ‘ </em>I didn’t take the Lady Stark to be a fighter, my lord. Are you certain?’ </p><p>‘Quite.’ He hummed, offering no further explanation.  </p><p>‘Any major losses?’ </p><p>‘Oberyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne’s brother. His three daughters have command of his men.’ By the change in his voice, Dany would have believed he truly upset by the news. She knew better, however, <em> he was raised by mummers, he can change his mood in an instant. That is why he cannot be trusted.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Is that all my Lord? We predicted the Starks would be victorious in the North.’  </p><p>The Eunuch smiled and a nervous titter escape his plump lips. ‘There is another thing. It is as we feared. The Northmen have named her Queen in the North.’  </p><p>Her stomach dropped. The very thing she’d been hoping to avoid had just swiped her across the cheek. When she learnt Robb Stark was claiming the North’s independence, she was angered but she was far from Westeros then so she didn’t think much of him. Now Sansa Stark was claiming what was rightfully hers as she arrived? <em> Tyrion will hear of this soon and with it, I will lose him.  </em> </p><p>‘She is a traitor, then.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I shall give her a chance to regain her honour. You said the Northmen named her their Queen?’ Varys nodded. ‘Then there is still a chance she can be saved. You will send a letter to Winterfell, begging, no not begging, requesting an audience with this new Queen. She shall bend the knee here and we shall march on King’s Landing together.’  </p><p>‘Indeed, your Grace, very wise.’ She despised his smiles. ‘There is another thing. Sansa Stark promised the Dornish and myself that she would destroy the Lannisters and march South. Word from the North is that she intends to stay a while. I have heard whispers of another, more dangerous threat beyond the wall.’  </p><p>‘Beyond the wall?’ She scoffed, hand falling upon her chest. ‘There is nothing beyond the wall bar wildlings and shadowcats. Is that what these Northmen fear?’  </p><p>‘Whatever it is, she’s put her vengeance on hold. They say there are wildlings flooding through the wall. It seems they are running from something.’  </p><p>‘This is absurd.’ She laughed, ‘but thank you for the warning. It seems we shall have a lot to speak about when she arrives. Be sure to address her as Queen in the letter. We don’t wish to make an enemy of the North before we’ve even stepped foot on their shores.’  </p><p>‘Very good, your Grace.’ He swept out, his cloak swishing across the floor like an oversized mop.  </p><p>As she sat on the hard throne on her own, Daenerys couldn’t help but be faced with conflict. She had meant to befriend the North to use their men to destroy Cersei Lannister but if they were insolent and unwilling to go South, would she have to punish them instead? <em> Tyrion would not allow me to stand against his Lady wife, that I know for certain even if he denies that part of his heart is with her. He still wears his  </em> <em> sigil </em> <em>  upon him even though he is at no danger of being parted with it. If  </em> <em> I turn </em> <em>  against the North, the people will seek independence even more. My only hope is to take it back peacefully. I must find common cause with Sansa Stark or else I may have no choice but to destroy her and never be forgiven by my own hand or half the realm. Curse the Starks, always getting in the way somehow.  </em> </p><p>At last she stood from the throne, grateful to no longer be perched awkwardly on the solid seat. She dropped down the stairs and made her way to one of the high arched windows. Outside a storm was hailing once more, battering against the rocks and dangerously swaying the ships moored in the shallows.  </p><p><em> There will be many storms ahead in this game of thrones. But I am Daenerys Stormborn. I was born in the storm. It will not consume me. I will become it. If the Starks stand against me? They shall learn to fear much more than the coming of Winter.  </em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some dialogue from 6x10</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Queen's Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ned Stark looked down upon her, his stone features capturing the warmth hidden behind his grey eyes. Sansa lit a candle at the base of his tomb, her fingers resting at his feet. Whomever had sculpted her father had known him well, she was sure- there was strength in his imposing form yet he still seemed the father who would take the Stark children into the </span>
  <span>Wolfswood</span>
  <span> hunting, or play along with their antics to the displeasure of her mother. At least, that was what she was sure Jon remembered him as; to Sansa, her father was often distant, never fully understanding her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At times she wanted to scream at him for it but now she knew it was no use. He didn’t mean to ignore her- she was different from her siblings, more a Tully than a Stark. Whilst the others took pleasure in rough-housing and caking themselves in mud, she enjoyed the company of her female companions, trading gossip whilst hunched over embroidery. Whilst the boys, and Arya, asked for swords and shields for their name days, she was content with a new book or new material for a dress she was planning. She never knew her father like she wanted to and now he would never know what she became.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was sure you’d break when the </span>
  <span>maester</span>
  <span> laid you in my arms.’ Sansa looked up to see him seated on the edge of his own tomb, his hair greyer than she reminded, his eyes crinkled and smiling. ‘I was thrilled when they said you were a girl. Absolutely terrified too, I’d only known boys and Robb and Jon had been easy so far.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you knew Lyanna. I’ve heard she was beautiful, the perfect lady.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled. ‘Aye, she was. But my sister was still a wolf. She liked the dresses and braiding her hair and minding her manners – we teased her endlessly for it- but at heart she was as wild as Brandon and I, as wild as your sister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was never wild.’ Her voice dropped into a hushed whisper. It hurt to admit she wasn’t like the rest of her family or those that had come before. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not when I knew you, no. That’s what made me so afraid. The others would fight and tumble but I knew they’d brush themselves off at the end. You were different, you were like glass. From the moment I held you I knew I had to protect you and I never escaped the terror of failing you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She dropped to her knees before him, looking to him through tear-clumped lashes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey! There’s no need for that - look at you now!’ He pushed himself off and reached a hand down to her. She took it and let her father help her onto her feet. She found it strange she stood just taller than him. He pressed a rough hand to her scarred cheek, ‘Queen in the North, defender of her people, leader of men.’ She captured his hand in her own, pulling back slightly at the cold of his skin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry, Sansa.’ He muttered, shaking his head. ‘My fear put a wall between us. You’ve come so far little wolf, don’t stop now.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Shut her eyes tight as a tear rolled down her cheek. She expected him to be gone by the time she opened them but he remained where he was, his own eyes slightly red and fixed on her . He raised his arm and pointed towards his sister’s tomb. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should do it before </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span>. That’s where Robert asked me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She choked back a sob and nodded, turning to look at the beautiful form of her aunt, flickering in the candle light. When she looked back, she was alone, only her father’s stone form for company. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Queen, you wanted to see me?’ Margaery’s voice echoed from the steps above. Before turning, Sansa sniffed and wiped away any evidence of her tears on the back of her sleeve. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come, come,’ she called, ‘and please, you know you can just call me Sansa.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery approached with trepidation, her eyes taking in the ancient Kings of winter followed by the Starks who bent the knee. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you sure I can be down here? I thought your crypts were just for Starks.’ When she reached her, Margaery took Sansa’s outstretched arm and they began to walk, slowly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye, but we can make exceptions for those we trust. It seems a shame that only Starks can pay tribute to those who came before.’ They stopped before </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span>, Margaery’s face lit up as she took in the fair stone features. ‘This is my Aunt </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span>. Her face overthrew the </span>
  <span>Targaryens</span>
  <span>.’ Margaery lit the candle at her alter with the torch she carried. Sansa offered her a grateful smile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She was beautiful. I’m sure she would’ve made waves if she’d lived longer.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, I think she would have. Yet even in death she has had greater influence on Westeros than most can claim in a lifetime.’ There was something Sansa found fascinating in the wolfish grin her aunt had been </span>
  <span>sculpted</span>
  <span> to wear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is this why you asked me here, to see her?’ Margaery was still staring at </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> as if trying to find the answer in her lifeless eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not really. When Robert Baratheon visited Winterfell, back when everything was simple, he and my father spoke down in these crypts, right where we are standing. I thought it would be fitting to do this here.’ She inhaled deeply before straightening herself, commanding attention. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery tilted her head, a slight, confused smile on her lips. ‘Sansa?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Marg, when you first arrived in King’s Landing all I saw you as was my chance at freedom. When you were set to marry Joffrey in my place you my saviour but I didn’t dare to think what that would mean for you. But then you became my friend, one of the few people in that horrid place that I could speak frankly with. You made me laugh when I all I wanted to sit in the dark and cry.’ She lowered her voice. ‘At times I doubted I would make it out of there alive. At times I thought it would be best if I were to, you know. At least no one would be able to hurt me anymore if I wasn’t alive to feel it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa. I didn’t even know I-’ She took hold of her friend’s arm and squeezed tight. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s my point. You didn’t know me, really, but you walked with me and talked to me and treated me like a real person not just some out of place Stark traitor. I knew you as a friend ever since you drew me out of that pit of wallowing but now, I’ve come to know you as much more.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery blinked and her face flushed. ‘You have?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re smart, cunning and quick. When I’ve been overflowing with anger you’ve been cool and collected. You’re there with what I need before I even ask. I’ve thought this through long and hard but you were the first to come to mind and no one else has proven themselves as you have.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery’s flush faded and she breathed out awkwardly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kneel.’ Sansa raised her hand and Margaery did as she was bid, lowering herself onto the ground before the watchful eyes of every Stark that had been. ‘Margaery of House Tyrell, as Robert Baratheon named by </span>
  <span>father, I</span>
  <span> name you Hand of the Queen. Let us hope we shall prove more capable than them.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery raised her head to look towards her Queen, trying to splutter out a string of words. Eventually she settled on a vigorous </span>
  <span>nod</span>
  <span> before standing and pulling Sansa into her arms brusquely. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t have a pin for you yet. I don’t think it would be right for you to wear the same symbol as the court of the South. I was thinking you could design something fitting. The smiths have been falling over </span>
  <span>eachother</span>
  <span> wanting to create something for me so I doubt you’ll have trouble finding one to make it for you.’ After they had </span>
  <span>separated</span>
  <span>, Sansa took her new Hand’s arm once more and they began making the trip back towards the stairs leading up into the courtyard. As they passed the Kings of winter, she felt their eyes burning into her and she swore she saw some of them moving. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shall ask Lady Melisandre if she knows anything. It cannot be a coincidence that so many of my family have spoken to me, touched me. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they emerged into the daylight, they both had to shield their eyes as the midday sun reflected bright white off of the fresh snow. As always, the courtyard was packed full of bodies but she was glad to see their defences were coming along well, many of the men </span>
  <span>whittling</span>
  <span> spikes that were being loaded into wagons to carry into the fields surrounding the keep. As they neared the castle, the sound of the opening of the gates circled them both round. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, I don’t have my crown with me. Where did I put the blasted </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>thing?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>The circlet the smiths had put together was a thing of beauty but after a while her neck began to ache and she ended up taking it off to relieve the pressure, leaving it lying around Gods know where. The crown had been designed in imitation of the one made for her brother that itself was based of that worn by the Starks when they ruled the North. A strip of metal circled her head and sword-like spikes protruded upwards, laced together by delicate silver twines. Two </span>
  <span>direwolves</span>
  <span> were etched in the front, their eyes picked out in sapphires to match her own. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Three riders passed through the gates, each smothered in layers of black fur. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Black Brothers. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Arch!’ She could pick out Jon’s voice from the edge of the courtyard. He pushed passed the few people crowding around the newcomers to welcome his old friend. When they were finished exchanging </span>
  <span>courtesies</span>
  <span>, Sansa stepped forward and greeted each of the brothers in turn. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When the third brother was lifted from their horse, she realised that they were no brother at all. Jeyne Poole threw back her hood, hot breath coming out in steam. She crossed her arms across her chest against the cold, her eyes erratically darting around the faces before her.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jeyne!’ Sansa step forward and pulled her into a swift embrace. Her friend’s face softened at that and she let her arms fall to her side. Sansa turned to Margaery close by. ‘Fetch Theon for me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arm in arm the childhood friends walked the keep together, sharing stories of their long time apart. Sansa had more to tell, Jeyne still reluctant to dig into what truly happened when she was last at Winterfell. She did, however, </span>
  <span>reluctantly explain how she’d made it North after Sansa last saw her when the Stark forces were overwhelmed at the Red Keep. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘This woman took me away; said I had been given a special place in Lord Baelish’s household. I thought that meant I would be going to the Fingers but they kept me in King’s Landing in one of his... establishments.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>She means brothels. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>At first he was good to me. I cried the first week, thinking he wanted me to be one of his girls but when things had calmed in the Red Keep, he paid me a visit and said he would keep me safe. All I needed to do was keep track of the coin in the house I was in. I went to the women each night to take our portion of the payments and recorded them in his ledger. The women were nice to me, a few gave me some of the jewels they’d been gifted, and Baelish was nice too whenever he came by.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When I was 15, I was still keeping the ledgers and living in this house with the other women. One of their clients, drunk I think, came into the wrong room and found me at my desk. He demanded I give him a show because his usual girl was away. I refused and he went off eventually when one of the guards heard the commotion and explained I wasn’t a whore. I didn’t think much of it but that was the end of Littlefinger’s kindness. He heard about what had happened and got this sickening look on his face. I didn’t want to do it but he threatened to cast me out if I refused.’ There were tears in her eyes and her voice was cracking but she kept going. ‘I did that for a year before the Lannisters came for me, telling me I had to be Arya for the </span>
  <span>Boltons</span>
  <span>.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They’d stopped walking by then. Sansa reached forward and grasped her friend’s hands. She didn’t need to hear the rest of the story. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If she can tell me about being forced into being a whore for Littlefinger but not what Ramsay did to her, I don’t think I want to know. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re not angry, are you Sansa? For being Arya and marrying that man?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa squeezed her hands tighter. ‘Of course, I’m not angry. I’m just glad that you’re safe now.’ She took her arm again and turned her back towards the courtyard. ‘I have a gift for you, if you’re ready.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Theon was waiting for them outside of the kennels. In the fine clothes they’d found for him in the keep, he looked almost as she remembered him before they parted ways. He’d grown stronger too, training every day with the Northmen and sometimes with Jon. The ragged beard she’d found him with at Castle Black had been trimmed and tamed. She decided it suited him perfectly. As they approached his eyes lit up and Sansa soon understood why. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jeyne!’ He jumped forward and swept the girl in his arms, lifting her slightly off the snow-packed ground. With a giggle, she was set down, any signs of her sadness melting away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I forgot what they went through together. I wonder-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She walked slightly ahead of them, keeping her intentions to herself, as she led them into the kennels. First, they passed a row of dogs leashed loosely to wooden posts. At the sound of their approach, some awoke and sniffed at their heels, yapping at Sansa patted several on the head. Further along, she pulled a set of keys from the pocket of her cloak and unlocked a heavy iron gate. Winterfell had dungeons deep below the surface, currently holding some of the Bolton’s the </span>
  <span>Nightswatch</span>
  <span> men would looking through. These cages were used for the more ferocious beasts used for hunting, back when the Starks ran with wolves. Ramsay had housed his own rabid dogs in there and they remained locked away within, their master in the final cell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ramsay Bolton appeared half the man that had met them before the Battle of the Bastards. Slumped down against the stone wall, his clothes hung loosely about his withered frame and his head hung low, even when they grew nearer. When they passed, his dogs shook their cages, slathering and howling, as </span>
  <span>ferocious</span>
  <span> as bears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yet if Ghost comes in here, they’d soon quieten down with their tails between their legs. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Direwolves</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> are stronger than any wolf, no matter how wild.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her, Theon’s arm was wrapped tightly around Jeyne who was pressed close into his side, flinching at every snarl and snap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps this was a mistake, she might not be ready. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the final cage, Sansa selected a different key and unlocked the steel bars. At the noise, Ramsay’s head slowly rose, his eyes narrow and mouth already set into a sneer. Theon and Jeyne fell in beside her, remaining silent. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bitch.’ He spat in her direction. ‘What do you want this time?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In truth Sansa had only visited him once before. It was soon after the battle ended and a strange need drew her towards his cell. Mostly he thrown her insults then too. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I came to apologise, Bastard.’ She’d begun the first time, after he’d quietened down. ‘I made a promise that you’d die the day we took back Winterfell but I’ve changed my mind. You don’t deserve such a quick death. You made my friends suffer now I intend to for you to repay your debts in kind.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d left him then, ordered that he be feed just enough to keep him alive every day. If he refused to eat, she ordered her men to force him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now she could see her work had paid off. He was clearly thinner than before and too weak to stand but he still had the energy to wake up and talk to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all I need. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m sure you’ve been longing to get this over with- what with the means of your death surrounding you every hour.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you talking about?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured to the dogs still baying around them, desperately trying to shake off their restraints. ‘Did you not notice the state of your pets? Every day they’ve been fed a little less. Yesterday they had nothing at all. Today they’re starving.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa, are you going to-’ Jeyne’s voice was small behind her, trembling.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She turned, painting on a calm face. ‘Yes, but only if you want me to. He’s wronged you far more than me, both of you.’ She spoke a little louder for Ramsay to hear. ‘I was thinking off taking his head as my father would but that death is too honourable. Then I thought we could flay him but I think, somehow, he’d enjoy that. Anyway, I don’t want to stoop to his level.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jeyne paused in thought, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. After a while, she nodded, her green eyes resolute. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Theon tells me you used to hunt down those who wronged you with your dogs. I thought it was fitting you suffered the same fate. Any last words, my Lord?’ She let a light smirk dance on her lips.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re never going to get what you want you fucking whore!’ He cried out, his dry throat making his voice straining and scratchy. ‘You’ve gotten this far through luck but the Lannisters will have your head, Lady Sansa.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Queen </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa.’ She corrected. She leaned in closely towards him, her eyes bright in the darkness. ‘</span>
  <span>Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear but I am Queen in the North and I sentence you to death.’ With that she pulled away, leaving his cell open. ‘Theon, will you help me?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘With honour.’ He grinned. One by one they unlocked the gates of the cells of his hounds, still thrashing and wailing in their hunger. They quickly moved to the other end of the room, closing the steel gate and locking it before the dogs could fall upon them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, they turned in the other direction where their master awaited them. As they descended, Sansa could see the terror in his eyes as he called out to them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sit down! Sit down!’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, his words became screams then his screams became silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Winter came for House Bolton as it will come for House Lannister and House Frey. Never again will anyone create such horrors and never again will the Flayed Man sit in the place of the wolf. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The raven came to them several days later, </span>
  <span>Maester</span>
  
  <span>Thomos</span>
  <span> delivering it to her with trembling fingers. As a man just out of the citadel, holding a letter with the seal of House Targaryen was unimaginable. Sansa was taking her dinner with Margaery and Ser Garlan when it arrived but she prolonged opening it until she assembled those she trusted within Winterfell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one can rule alone. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the chambers they had </span>
  <span>allotted</span>
  <span> for her Queen’s council, a fire was blazing and candles were lit around the room. Servants had brought several jugs of wine and some breads on a platter. When she entered, almost everyone was already assembled. Jon was seated next to her seat at the head of the table, opposite from Margaery who took the Hand’s place. The </span>
  <span>Greyjoys</span>
  <span> stood around the map near Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> Mormont who was in a deep discussion with Lady Brienne. Trying to get the sword-maiden's attention, Tormund Giantbane was already on his second cup of wine but seemed angered that Obara Martell was drinking more. Ser Davos greeted her upon arrival and all fell into a hushed silence. She made her way to the head of the table. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have received a letter from Daenerys Targaryen. If rumours are to be believed, and in this case, I think they are too ludicrous to be imagined, she has brought an army of unsullied soldiers and three dragons to Westeros. I believe you don’t need me to tell you how valuable those would be to our causes in the North and the South.’ Next to her, Jon nodded </span>
  <span>vigorously</span>
  <span>. He had been the most vocal about allying the Starks with the </span>
  <span>Targaryens</span>
  <span> since word of the lost Queen’s arrival at Dragonstone reached them.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took out the folder letter from her cloak and broke the dragon seal. Sansa’s eyes flicked over the words as she read them and the room held its breath in the silence.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At last, she passed the letter down to Margaery. ‘Daenerys Targaryen has requested I travel down to Dragonstone to make my peace with her. The words of the letter are sweet but I fear what she truly means is-’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come here and bend the knee.’ Margaery finished for her, passing the parchment across to Jon. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly. </span>
  <span>Obviously,</span>
  <span> I will not be doing that.’ She took a breath and thought for a moment. ‘Nor will I be going.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa!’ Jon stood in </span>
  <span>objection;</span>
  <span> his palms pressed against the table. He’d earnt his seat by her, as her General yet he didn’t care for loyalties enough to hold his tongue. The others she </span>
  <span>promoted showed</span>
  <span> more reserve but she knew what they were thinking. ‘You said it yourself we need the </span>
  <span>Targaryens</span>
  <span>, there’s no time for squabbling.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have no intention of squabbling, Jon. I just won’t be attending this Southern Queen because I will be a disappointment to her when I do not blindly give her the North.’ Her tone was sharp, urging him to continue his defiance.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We need the Dragons. If you upset her, she may turn them on us.’ Ser Davos spoke calmly unlike Jon whom the onion knight stuck close to. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have no intention to upset her. You are right, we need this alliance and yet I have just secured the North, I refuse to leave it so soon. Especially with the dead drawing closer every day.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon seemed more satisfied with that, he sat back down at the table, his brows furrowed in thought. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That is why I’ll be sending representatives to Dragonstone. They will make our case to the Dragon Queen but will be in no position to bargain away the North.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Dragon won’t be happy that you send someone else in your place.’ Asha Greyjoy was sat nearby beside Theon. By the flickering candlelight the Commander of the Fleet appeared to be </span>
  <span>burningm</span>
  <span> her features highlighted by the amber glow. Sansa noticed Margaery staring in awe.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I doubt she will. Likely she’ll perceive it as a slight and curse my name. The representatives I send will have the job of smoothing out relations. Assure her I am doing this for the good of the North and not as an insult to her honour.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But which is it really?’ The daughter of the Kraken was fiddling with her dirk. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A bit of both.’ Sansa smiled. Asha liked that.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The truth was far more complicated but to explain that here would ruin her plans. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘As Hand of the Queen, Margaery should go. I have faith you will preserve the honour of the North.’ Margaery stood and bowed her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And she will be accompanied by my brother, Jon. No one knows the threat the dead bring as he does. We need her to understand what is at stake and I believe he can do this.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know more about the bloody walkers.’ Tormund </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span> drained his cup and thrust it towards her as he spoke. ‘Why not send me to seduce the Dragon bitch?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa chuckled, imagining the fiery-haired wildling attending to the Targaryen Queen. ‘I would send you but I believe you will have more worth here with the others that are staying.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>With Brienne, I mean. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Who else will command the free folk like you? There is still much to be done to reinforce the keep.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, when you say it like that.’ He fell into a seat, his cup now raised to her and a smile on his lips. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With a slight shake of her head she returned her attention to the rest of the room. ‘Any questions my Lords and Ladies? Jon and Margaery will need to leave on the morrow, time is not our friend.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The room remained silent so, satisfied, she nodded and motioned for them to head back to their beds. The sound of shuffling chairs accompanied most of the council leaving until only Margaery remained, her eyebrow raised.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Sansa poured them both a cup of wine, parched. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t tell me you thought of all that as you were speaking.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa smiled into her cup as she drank. ‘Do you not believe I can think on the spot? Have you no faith in your Queen?’ She said in a mock-offended voice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Be serious, what are you planning?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa checked the room had </span>
  <span>emptied</span>
  <span> and skipped over to the door, pulling it shut. ‘I did read the letter for the first time in here but – I’ve been thinking about this for some time. The arrival of Daenerys Targaryen could mean our victory or our doom depending on the impression I make. I’d be a hypocrite if I went all the wall to Dragonstone just to reject her whilst preaching my love of the North.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I understand that,’ Margaery admitted, taking a seat, ‘but I don’t understand why you’re sending Jon. I can tell them about the dead just as well as he can. If the Dragon Queen doesn’t want to believe us, it won’t matter whether he claims he’s seen them at </span>
  <span>Hardhome</span>
  <span>. We won’t have any real proof whoever tells her.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A wicked grin spread across Sansa’s face as she finished her cup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Margaery is not fool enough to believe my reasons for sending Jon. Good. I wasn’t aiming on telling her but perhaps her knowing will speed up the process. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>If I’m right, Jon will be delivering the Dragon Queen a lot more than pleas for help.’ She met Margaery’s eyes who shared her knowing look. ‘Well, there may be </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>pleas, but what happens in his bedchamber is none of my business.’ </span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dialogue taken from 6x09</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Ultimatum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Margaery hated ships. She hated the constant rocking of the deck. She hated the dull food and confined cabins. She hated the smell of the salt and decay of the open sea. Most of all she hated the bile that rose in her throat every time the wind picked up. When she’d travelled with Sansa from King’s Landing to Dorne and then from White Harbour to Eastwatch, she’d barely kept any of her food down and spent most her time curled up in her bed, pale and sweaty. When Sansa named her the Queen’s representative to Dragonstone, she was glad to receive the honour but the thought of the choppy waters brought up the sickness all over again. She dreaded stepping aboard from the day they left Winterfell to the day, a few days later when their small party reached White Harbour. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lord </span>
  <span>Manderly</span>
  <span> had given them use of one of his ships for the occasion, his fastest in the fleet, and sent his son </span>
  <span>Wylis</span>
  <span> along with them to confirm this with the </span>
  <span>Manderly</span>
  <span> sailors. </span>
  <span>Wylis</span>
  <span> had been eager to take the ship to sea but Sansa had urged him against it. The boy had only ever commanded small sailboats around the harbour. The ship they’d chosen was far from a war galley but its speed and power were far too much for a novice. It fell upon the shoulders of the new Commander of the Fleet to fulfil her duty. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>While Margaery Tyrell was kept up at night by nightmares of sailing, Asha Greyjoy was full of energy no one had seen from her at all. It had been nearly a year since the Queen of the sea had taken her rightful place on a ship and she made no effort to hide her excitement. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t understand how someone can be so thrilled at the idea of floating the open sea in a wooden casket. I’d much sooner take the long ride south and a small boat across to Dragonstone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Time was not, however, on their side, and Margaery agreed, knowing there was no other option.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they settled on deck, whilst Asha quickly familiarised herself with the ship and crew, Margaery immediately locked herself in her cabin. Jon knocked several times to persuade her to come out before they set off, but she refused, sitting herself firmly on her bed, knees brought up to her chest. It was there she waited. She knew she’d feel the familiar lurching as soon as they set sail. She waited still. Several hours later she realised she was still waiting. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something must’ve gone wrong. I have to go see, I’m hand of the Queen. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Margaery took a deep breath in a lowered her feet onto the wooden planks, grateful to find them solid and still as she slowly unlocked her door and advanced towards the top deck. When she opened the hatch door that led outside, she was struck by a blast of cold air, whipping at her face and throwing her hair behind her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That makes no sense. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked across the deck and over the rails. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re moving.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At once she started forwards, clinging to the rails as if her life depended on it. With eyes squeezed shut, she tried her best to control her breathing, hoping someone would pass her soon and help her back inside. Nobody passed her but instead Margaery came to realise she hadn’t even noticed they were moving and, even now, the wind and the movement of the waves beneath her was the only evidence that they’d moved away from White Harbour. Slowly, she opened her eyes and let her white-knuckled hands relax, pulling away from the rails. Not needing to keep her balance, she walked across the deck, breathing in the sea air deeply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s almost calming. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Lady Hand!’ The shout came from the other side of the ship. Atop a raised platform, behind the great wheel, Asha Greyjoy was calling to her. With newfound confidence, she walked over, climbing onto the platform where she had a far better view of the expansive emptiness surrounding them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Found your </span>
  <span>sea-legs</span>
  <span>? The bastard thought you wouldn’t be coming out till we arrived.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t expect it to be so calm. The waters were so rough last time I thought the ship would topple over.’ She laughed slightly at that, it sounded so foolish. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha! Is that what the captains told you? Water too rough? Iron-born don’t blame shitty sailing on the water.’ Her lips turned into a smile and her voice quietened slightly. ‘Glad to help you conquer your fear though, m’lady. You were pale as milk all the ride </span>
  <span>down,</span>
  <span> thought you wouldn’t make it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m very grateful. Can’t have me turning up to the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> stinking of vomit from sea-fever.’ Margaery sidestepped closer to her, aiming to see what the captain could see. It wasn’t much different from everything else. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How can anyone tell where they’re going? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Asha seemed to have read her mind. ‘Would you like a go, to steer I mean. If you take it for a few minutes we can’t go too far off course.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You expect me to be terrible?’ Margaery smirked, eyebrow raised. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No offence but up until a few minutes ago you were shitting your dress at the thought of sailing. Yes, I expect you to be terrible.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How did I get here? I hate ships. I hate the sea yet here I am about to steer one. What would grandmother think of this? She’d pull me back inside and tell me that a Lady’s place is in her cabin, not on deck with the crew. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, ‘let’s do it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sticking out her bottom lip and chuckling quietly, Asha stepped aside from the wheel, and Margaery took her place. She settled her hand lightly up the smooth wooden handles, and, casting aside her doubts, pulled the wheel to the right. At once the deck beneath her lurched but Margaery didn’t feel the sickness return. When Asha jumped forward to stop her, Margaery expected her to be angry and push her away but she didn’t. In fact, Margaery was sure the </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span> princess was smiling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Here.’ To get them back straight, Asha moved close beside her and </span>
  <span>hesitantly</span>
  <span>, lowered her hands onto Margaery’s, grasping them as Margaery was grasping the handles. Margaery shivered at the sudden contact but Asha didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy turning the wheel gradually back to the left, putting them back on track. When it was clear Margaery’s mistake was righted, she waited for her hands to be released but Asha’s grip was firm and her eyes were fixed on the spot at which their flesh had met. Margaery looked down too. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Asha’s hands dwarfed her own, but they weren’t as mannish as Margaery had expected. Where her hands were slight and accompanied by slender, long fingers, Asha’s hands were larger, more calloused from use with thicker, stronger fingers. Yet there was still grace in them, still elegance that Margaery couldn’t help but marvel at. She’d only seen the Greyjoy woman as a sea-faring </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span>, dressing and acting as a man to make up for her birth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lady Brienne’s hands are more mannish than these. It’s something in the way her fingers curl-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Neither realised just how long their hands had been together until Jon jogged towards them and shook them both from their trance. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps this trip will not be as terrible as I expected. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A ship been spotted near the harbour, my Lord, bearing Stark banners.’ Tyrion had been looking over the plans for Dragonstone when the slight youth knocked at his door. He knew the island keep had some ancient Targaryen secrets hidden within its grey walls. The boy was of Essos, by his accent, but his </span>
  <span>Westorosi</span>
  <span> was excellent – </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably trained as a bed slave for a fat merchant or slaver. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gathering himself together, he followed the boy out, a strange tightness forming in his stomach. His mind had been wandering ever since Daenerys told him she’d invited his wife to Dragonstone to speak. He hadn’t heard much about Sansa’s activities from Varys so it was enough to know that she was still alive, let alone on her way to him. He still wasn’t sure if he had completely forgiven her for abandoning him to his sister’s </span>
  <span>vengeance</span>
  <span> in King’s Landing but something told him he wouldn’t be holding that grudge for long. He had too many questions to ask, too many stories to exchange. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Will she even look as I remember? It’s been nearly two years since I last saw her, she’ll be a woman grown by now. Could she have gotten any taller? Could her neck have gotten any longer? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought of her long, swan-like neck stirred something in him and he had to cast her image from his mind to calm himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She won’t be paying me much attention. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He reminded himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she still needs to reclaim her home, it’s men and dragons she’s after. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He reached the outside courtyard of Dragonstone just as the Stark ship was pulling into the dock between the merchants’ ships from Slaver’s Bay. He squinted for any sign of her Tully red hair, cursing himself again for his foolish expectations. He soon fell in beside Jorah Mormont, silent and brooding as always.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bear knight had washed up in a small rowing boat several days past, presenting himself to his long-lost queen on his knees, his eyes tearing at the sight of her. The Queen was reluctant to accept him at first but when he told his story of his journey across Essos to return to her, she was clearly moved. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know you turned me away but I got so far from </span>
  <span>Meereen</span>
  <span> then realised there was nothing else for me. I couldn’t return to Westeros knowing I was only here for betraying you and the rest of Essos felt foreign without my Queen by my side. I began the trip back but the land was struck by the warring cities so I had to reach you by boat. Nothing of note happened while I sailed until we passed near the ruins of Old </span>
  <span>Valyria</span>
  <span>, that’s when the grey men fell on me.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys had let out a gasp then and rose from her chair to draw closer to him, concern etched on her youthful but tired features. ‘Were you hurt?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In answer he drew up his sleeve. Tyrion had taken a step closer </span>
  <span>then</span>
  <span>, to see for himself. Jorah Mormont’s arm wasn’t covered in greyscale like he had expected but it was heavily scarred, as if the skin had been flayed off. ‘When I </span>
  <span>realised</span>
  <span> I was infected, I knew I couldn’t go back to you. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ever hurt you.’ Daenerys’ face had briefly flashed in anger, Tyrion understood what she meant. Ser Jorah had already hurt her with his betrayal but she couldn’t bring herself to lay those charges at his feet once again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He continued. ‘I went back to Westeros, smuggled myself to Oldtown. None of the </span>
  <span>maesters</span>
  <span> or healers would see me. They told me I could take the ship back to the ruins to live out my life with the grey men or take myself to the Lord to face my death. An apprentice </span>
  <span>maester</span>
  <span> found me, right when I’d given up all hope. He took it upon himself to find a cure; he was a man of the Night’s Watch and knew my father. It was painful but-’ he held up his arm again, ‘he did it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was all it took for Daenerys to welcome her knight back to her side with open arms. He tried to stop her from touching him in case he was still infectious but she silenced him and embraced him anyway, baring a smile Tyrion rarely saw. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion wasn’t sure how he felt about Ser Jorah. It wouldn’t take a fool to know he cared deeply for the Queen but sometimes Tyrion was sure he may care </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>deeply for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys will need to marry one day but it won’t be to an ageing exiled knight. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A group of unsullied were welcoming the Starks when Tyrion reached the bottom of the stairs that ended in the harbour. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, now I have to march all the way back up. Why can’t every tall keep have a basket like the Eeyrie. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>From the small group of Northerners, Tyrion noticed a familiar face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon Snow?’ He called out. Ned Stark’s bastard turned and looked down upon him in shock. He’d grown into a man since he’d last seen the boy at the wall. Of course, back then, Jon believed himself to be a man but now he truly was. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lannister?’ The unsullied parted to let the two of them meet. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could ask you the same question.’ He shot back. ‘Awfully far South for the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.’ That had been the last Tyrion had head of the Stark bastard. He’d been impressed to know the arrogant boy had learnt enough to earn his brothers’ respect. They hadn’t been too kind to the castle-trained bastard when he arrived at Castle Black. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not with the Night’s Watch anymore.’ He spoke simply, which Tyrion took as a warning to not ask any of the questions buzzing around his head. They began walking towards the step in the cliff, ‘I’m here with the Lady Hand representing the Queen.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Queen? Where is Sansa?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>The Queen?’ He tried to answer innocently though by Jon’s expression he knew it was a foolish question. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa.’ Jon spoke as if this was nothing new. ‘Your lady wife?’ He said that with a touch of bitterness. Tyrion chose not to address that quite yet. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa’s Queen? When did this happen? What happened to the </span>
  <span>Boltons</span>
  <span>?’ He stopped dead on the stone steps, keeping his face firm. Jon seemed to think this was a joke. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dead. We took Winterfell back. That was weeks ago now.’ As Tyrion’s expression remained confused, Jon paused, flaring his nostrils and raising his eyebrows. ‘You know nothing of what she’s been doing do you? Why did you think your Queen invited her here?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion turned up to look towards the keep looming above them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Daenerys, why indeed?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Dragon Queen was seated on her raised stone chair, her seat stacked with cushions and draped in a soft throw embroidered with the three-headed Targaryen </span>
  <span>sigil</span>
  <span>. She’d fixed her crown on her head and dressed in her finest Westeros gown; charcoal black, cinched tightly with a corset, embellished with red flames that danced from her hem upwards and </span>
  <span>finished</span>
  <span> with long, flowing sleeves. Remembering the chill that swept relentlessly through the empty halls, she pulled a deep grey cloak over the top, fixed together with a silver dragon broach. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the base of the plinth on which she sat, </span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span> stood, facing the door. Otherwise, the room was lined with unsullied soldiers that stood, unmoving like iron statues. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Whilst Tyrion and Ser Jorah made the descent down the cliff to meet with Sansa Stark and her company, Daenerys chose to await them in the throne room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shall make it so they have to come to me, not I to them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In truth, she dreaded the journey up the stairs and didn’t want the Queen in the North to see her pant and sweat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crown was beginning to grow heavy upon her brow when the doors finally swung open and a member of the unsullied hailed their </span>
  <span>entrance</span>
  <span>. Tyrion and Ser Jorah led the group in, speaking in hushed tones whilst smiling towards her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something is wrong. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She scanned their group. Two women and a man approached. The first woman was of age with herself, dressed in a dress much finer than her own, with soft brown hair tumbling upon her shoulders. Next to her, a woman of her polar </span>
  <span>opposite</span>
  <span> swaggered, dressed in men’s leather armour and breeches, her hair and face tidied but looking as if this was a rare spectacle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Which one of these is Sansa Stark? Neither seemed to fit the description Tyrion had offered. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Finally, she looked towards their male companion. He was dark of hair and bore an untidy, equally dark beard. He was only just taller than the women but did bare a longsword across his back that she knew would require great </span>
  <span>strength</span>
  <span> to carry, let alone wield. When he stopped below her seat, she could see that his eyes were a stormy grey unlike anything she had seen before. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You stand before Daenerys </span>
  <span>Stormborn</span>
  <span> of House Targaryen, Queen of the </span>
  <span>Andals</span>
  <span> and of the First Men, mother of dragons and breaker of chains, the unburnt.’ </span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span> called out her many titles after Tyrion and Ser Jorah took their places either side of her. Whilst they seemed impressed by her accolades, not one of them went to bow, only dropping their heads instead. Silence followed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Realising they had no one to introduce them, Tyrion stepped back in front of her and cleared his throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Queen, may I present Lady Asha Greyjoy, of the Iron Islands.’ The mannish woman stepped slightly forward and Dany nodded. ‘Lady Margaery Tyrell, Hand of the Queen in the North.’ Dany scowled at that but before she could interject, Tyrion raised his voice and finished. ‘And Jon Snow.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And where is Sansa Stark? Did the Queen want to make a grand entrance?’ She narrowed her eyes, </span>
  <span>particularly</span>
  <span> at the Tyrell girl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Highgarden is in the South, as far as I’m aware. I am your Queen, you should bow to me, not to the Northerners.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Our deepest apologies, your Grace. My Queen was unable to travel from the North at this time. She has only just secured Winterfell and wouldn’t want to leave it so soon after such a long absence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and she is the last one left.’ The bastard spoke up, his accent thick and unfamiliar. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘So instead she sent her bastard brother, a sailor and her Hand. At least sending her hand is sensible, but why you two?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m only here to get these two here and back safely,’ the Kraken spoke up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That made sense. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion looked up towards her. ‘Lady Asha was going to stay with her ship but the </span>
  <span>Greyjoys</span>
  <span> are an </span>
  <span>influential</span>
  <span> and noble house. I thought it best that you were introduced.’ His voice remained calm yet something in his eyes gave him away. She wasn’t sure if it was fury or betrayal or a mix of the two but she was sure she’d find out when this mummery was done with. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My sister sent me because there’s a threat we face in the North that will soon fall upon the whole realm, yourself included. I’ve seen our enemy up close beyond the wall so she thought I could do it justice.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I offer you friendship and kindness, Sansa Stark, and you spit it back in my face. I am well aware of the slight this was meant to inflict but this ‘danger’ they are so preoccupied with is curious. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I am just a young girl and know little of the politics of Westeros but this seems like a slight to me. </span>
  <span>First</span>
  <span> she means to steal half my Kingdom from me then your Queen refuses to see me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery stepped forward, her eyes were large and round but the doe-eyed hand commanded the attention of her companions. ‘My Queen understood well how this would appear but found herself stuck in her situation. She </span>
  <span>has</span>
  <span> written to you though, to offer some consolation.’ Margaery began towards the steps but one of the unsullied jumped forward, spear thrust towards her. Daenerys waved him off and gestured for the Tyrell girl to come closer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dany’s eyes swam over the words in their fair, swooping hand. She’d expected flowery falsehoods from the Queen in the North promising alliances and offering her sincerest apologies but the tone was blunt and the words clear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My people are the most important thing to me at this time, I hope you can appreciate that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That particular line stuck with her. In truth, she could see herself in Sansa’s shoes, putting the kingdom she had claimed before other duties, especially foreigners demanding an audience. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tyrion was right once </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>again,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> we are more similar than we know. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to the assembled Ladies and bastard Lord and attempted her best smile, even if she still couldn’t quite shake off the insult. ‘Your Queen’s words have moved me. I will accept you in her place though expect to make her </span>
  <span>acquaintance</span>
  <span> soon.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course, your Grace. She looks forward to meeting you.’ The rose beamed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me of your Queen, she had conquered the North, will she stay put?’ Dany knew the answer to this question already but Sansa Stark’s lack of movement put it into doubt.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery Tyrell answered once more. ‘Queen Sansa has always made it clear she aims to march back South to overthrow the </span>
  <span>tyrannical</span>
  <span> Queen Cersei. We both saw her evil while in King’s Landing and the family have committed countless crimes against the Starks.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yet she has been North for some time now, comfortable in Winterfell. I doubt your Southern forces are eager to remain in the cold for much longer. Why hasn’t she marched?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bastard stepped forward. ‘Your Grace, the dead march South, I have seen them myself. It was the dead that attacked the Night’s Watch at the Fist of the First Men, halving out numbers. I saw them at </span>
  <span>Hardhome</span>
  <span> where they fell upon a wildling settlement. I could not tell you their numbers, every death is another body in their army. When they breach the wall, and they will breach it, they will overwhelm the North and the South will be next. Sansa is remaining at Winterfell to build up its defences while we await the coming of the white walkers.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that, she scoffed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is a foolish joke. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You expect me to believe that an army of dead men is marching on Winterfell? If that’s true, why can’t your army just face them. This seems like a matter for the North.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not that simple. The walkers can’t be killed by steel or iron. Only Valyrian steel and </span>
  <span>dragonglass</span>
  <span> have ever killed one. That and fire, of course.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> he wants my dragons to fight his </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>fairytales</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And why should I believe a word you say?’ She sat slightly forward in her chair, her eyes fixed on the base-born man’s swirling eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa hates Cersei just as much as you do, my Queen.’ Tyrion spoke up, nodding to where Jon stood. ‘It doesn’t make sense for her not to march immediately. She’d want you to help her take King’s Landing.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘There are prophecies of a Long Night following a long summer. I saw it myself in Volantis, Red priests and priestesses are certain something will happen soon. They claim there have been many omens of great danger and change.’ Ser Jorah spoke calmly beside her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have missed his counsel. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind was brought back to the red comet that seared the sky after she emerged from the flaming pyre with her dragons. The Dothraki had taken it as a sign that they should follow but nobody could agree on exactly what it meant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If it’s connected to me somehow, my place may be in the North. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Thank you, Lord Jon, Lady Hand. You have answered many of my questions. Will you allow me a little time to think the matter over?’ She returned her voice to a soft, sweet lilt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have little time, your Grace.’ The bastard spoke up. Her face soured. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He speaks out of turn to me like I am just another Lady to him. He calls his Queen by her name or just as his sister too. You’d think a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch would know respect. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I shall not take long. Thank you.’ With a sweep of her hand, she dismissed them and, when the arrivals had been </span>
  <span>led</span>
  <span> away, she fell into deep conversation with her councillors. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d planned to launch accusations at her as soon as the room emptied but he could tell know wasn’t the time, especially with Ser Jorah at her side. After his initial betrayal, Tyrion doubted the old knight would dare question his Queen. On top of that, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to question her now. On one hand there was the betrayed Tyrion, angry and confused. Then there was the Tyrion interested in the matters of the North, the Tyrion who wanted to serve his Queen, the Tyrion who was glad to see Jon Snow again, the Tyrion who was proud of what Sansa had achieved and the Tyrion that missed his Lady wife and was overcome with melancholy when she didn’t appear. If he tried to unleash any of his emotions at her, he feared they might all fall out and he’d never manage to get the answers from her he needed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you hide news of Sansa from me? How long have you been doing this? Do you not trust your own Hand? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Instead he put on the face of the councillor Tyrion and joined in with her discussion, even as it turned away from the direction he was hoping to pursue. He knew the Northerners would never relent and bend the knee to her after choosing Robb Stark and then Sansa and he told her as much but Daenerys was resolute that she’d change their mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have fought to claim seven kingdoms. How can I come this far and settle for six? Or will it be fewer now the Tyrells, </span>
  <span>Martells</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Greyjoys</span>
  <span> have had a taste of freedom. If I allow the North independence, what is to stop </span>
  <span>other</span>
  <span> kingdom from </span>
  <span>separating</span>
  <span>? Of course, some houses will not want independence from the crown so there will be conflict and war and haven’t we had enough of the bloodshed? Sansa Stark seems a reasonable person, Starks are not known to be erratic or power-hungry. She will see sense.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion knew he couldn’t sway her. He chose to stand back and allow her to see the flaw in her plan. He knew Sansa well enough that she wouldn’t give her crown up to Daenerys, even if she supported her for the Iron Throne. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery, Jon and Asha were led back in after they were summoned for the Queen’s decision. He stood at her side, trying to offer them sympathetic looks, trying to assure them he did not support her stance. In the corner of the room he caught Lord Varys’ eyes, the pampered eunuch watching on in his perfumed robes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know you were conspiring with Daenerys. You shall not escape this web you’ve stuck yourself in. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lady Margaery, Lord Snow, Lady Asha,’ the Queen began, her voice cool and commanding. ‘After discussions with my councillors, I find we are at an impasse. I understand the benefits of joining our forces together against Cersei Lannister but there is something that is unsettling me. I am the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms yet Sansa Stark has laid claim to one of them. I would say that is treason, wouldn’t you?’ She left them no time to answer, continuing on quickly. ‘And as for your problem in the North, I'm </span>
  <span>sympathetic</span>
  <span> to your cause but I cannot divert my men based purely off the stories you tell, based off blind faith.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, you offer us nothing?’ Jon raised his voice slightly and Tyrion watched her calm demeanour flake away. Something about the Stark bastard particularly infuriated her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I offer you a pardon. Write to your Queen, Lady Margaery, and beg her to come just for a short visit. If she bends the knee and cedes the North like her ancestors did to mine, House Stark will find an ally in House Targaryen. She will be allowed to continue as </span>
  <span>Wardeness</span>
  <span> of the North and we will march against Cersei Lannister together. These are my terms.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They are a fool’s terms. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tyrion couldn’t help but think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys may be the rightful Queen but that doesn’t make her the smartest. She doesn’t understand the ways of our politics and, when I try to teach her them, she dismisses me. Sansa Stark will never the bend the knee so she will never gain the forces that we need to take King’s Landing. And if she refuses to cede her own claim to the North, Daenerys will have another war on her hand. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon Snow’s face had contorted in anger. ‘There’s no time for this. The dead will not wait for our petty squabbles.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then you should send that letter off soon and hope she replies quickly.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon went to say something else but Margaery stepped in and managed a slight smile. ‘I accept those terms, your Grace. I shall send my Queen the letter and report her response. I cannot guarantee that you will like it.’ She blinked gracefully, accentuating her soft beauty. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘So be it.’ </span>
  <span>Deanery's</span>
  <span> exhaled. ‘You may stay until Sansa Stark sends her reply. Until then, enjoy the few pleasures of Dragonstone.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ned Stark’s bastard’s shoulders remained tense and his face hadn’t settled but Margaery mumbled something to him as she turned her back to leave. His eyes fell on her and, by his expression, a question escaped his lips. The Tyrell rose nodded and took his arm to lead him out. Only Asha Greyjoy remained. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She won’t agree.’ She spat out. ‘</span>
  <span>There'll</span>
  <span> be war.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen’s lips curled in distaste. ‘Then there will be war.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When the room was empty, even the unsullied waiting outside, Tyrion turned on her. She’d stepped down from her throne and was overlooking the cliffs, her dragons singeing each-other above the sea. He knew she was well aware that he was still there and was even more aware of what he was about to say yet she continued with her back turned to him as if the most exciting thing was happening just outside. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How dare you!’ He began, his voice slightly choked in his fury. ‘I am your hand and you intentionally keep information from me. How in the Gods I am supposed to serve you without knowing everything you do?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Calm down,’ she muttered, turning slowly, ‘I did it for everyone’s benefit.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He balled his fist and pressed it against his lips. ‘How, pray tell, this is doing anyone any good? Surely you are not fool enough to realise someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>may </span>
  </em>
  <span>mention the North at some point?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a withering look as if this was all obvious to her. ‘I never expected it to need to go this far. Nobody expected Sansa Stark to be named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Queen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We thought she’d march North and remove the </span>
  <span>Boltons</span>
  <span>, doing our work for us. If I told you the Starks were about to go into battle or meet with someone important, I know you’d be preoccupied with worry until Varys found the result. It could take weeks for information to catch up with him in </span>
  <span>Meereen</span>
  <span>. This way you’d find out she was successful and it would be a happy surprise, not something keeping you awake when your focus should be on me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Preoccupied with worry?’ He spluttered out with a laugh. ‘How many times must I tell you that my relationship with Sansa is-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Purely friendly, yes I understand that. Yet, even if you hated her completely, I’d still do the same.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is exasperating. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys stepped over to one of the stone benches that lined the hall. She swept her dress under her and sat down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have never seen one but I’ve been told of the wedding traditions of the South. You would’ve pinned your cloak over her, yes? What are the words for that part of the ceremony again?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You may now cloak your bride and bring her under your protection.’ He recalled his wedding day with a sad smile. His stool taken by his mocking nephew, his sister smirking the whole time, Sansa trembling throughout the whole ceremony, having to kneel for to fix the bloody cloak around her neck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop thinking about her neck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She hadn’t complained though, she fixed her face and said the words when she could’ve fussed and deepened his humiliation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You brought her under your protection. </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span> always pay their debts, do they not? And oaths are a kind of debt too.’ Her expression was soft, sympathetic. He still boiled within at the ruse but she seemed sincere; it wasn’t an act against him but to keep him from anxiety over something that he could do nothing about.  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I think that’s only part of it.’ She continued, leaning towards him. ‘You’re responsible for her and even more so after your family were the ones to imprison and terrorise her but you spent a great deal of time together, shared a bed. Your marriage was never consummated yet you do not correct anyone for calling her your wife and, tell me if I’m wrong, you still wear her </span>
  <span>sigil</span>
  <span> on your doublet even though there’s no danger of it being stolen away.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel the cool back of the metal pressing against his chest as she mentioned it. He was silent for a moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have I been so obvious? ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Your Grace,’ he coughed awkwardly, ‘I must admit I enjoyed her company and miss it. I’ve worried about her too but you know my loyalty is with you and always will be. As you said, </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span> keep their oaths as well as debts.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I feared for a moment that you were disloyal, you would’ve been dragonfood before you could defend yourself, trust me.’ He did. She laughed gently. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She never apologised but he supposed that admitting failure was difficult for a Queen. In her mirth, it seemed to go unsaid though he felt no more satisfied than he had beforehand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why I am constantly punished for a decision that wasn’t mine to take? If Jon Snow doesn’t stab me for defiling his sister, I’ll be a lucky man. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The anger still raged on within but he painted on an accepting smile and she stood, gladly. As they walked out of the hall together, he spoke lowly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa will never bend the knee.’ He’d said it to her before but he felt she needed to hear it again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ She smirked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion stopped in his tracks. ‘Then what is all this for? What if Jon is telling the truth and a real threat is marching on the North. What if there’s really </span>
  <em>
    <span>no time for this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ As he quoted Ned Stark’s bastard, he deepened his voice to imitate the Northern accent. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If she refuses to bend the knee, she will offer something else instead, or at least produce some proof of these ‘dead’.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And if she agrees, if she gives you the North?’ Tyrion couldn’t see Sansa doing it but if she was desperate and it meant protecting her people-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then she’ll be a poor Queen and it’ll probably be best that her rule is short-lived.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion frowned; he couldn’t think of a thing to shoot back at her but he still was sure this was a foolish gambit. ‘And if she names you a traitor and turns her men on you?’ He pondered, a warning in his tone.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She echoed her words to Asha Greyjoy, now with an edge of concern. ‘Then there’ll be war.’ </span>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Cold Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘Gone?’ Sansa Stark was hunched over the great table in the centre of the council chambers, her fingers outstretched across the map of Westeros. She’d hardly slept during the night and had been awoken before dawn by frantic knocking at her door. Pulling her furs around herself, she’d answered, to find Obara and </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> Martell on the other side. She’d dressed quickly and, as they encouraged, fetched those she trusted most, Lady Brienne, Theon Greyjoy and Lyanna Mormont. When they were assembled in the council chambers, yawning, the </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> told their tale. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We get up before the sun each morning to train, meeting to break our fast in the kitchens before heading down into the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> camp.’ </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> took the lead. She appeared unnaturally dishevelled and her voice quavered. ‘Except, Tyene didn’t show in the kitchens and wasn’t in her room. We searched for a while then guessed she’d woken early and gone down without us. Your grace um-’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Obara finished her sister’s sentence, ‘a third of the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> have gone, took away in the night. They’d only just realised by the time we had arrived.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa fell down into her chair and brought her hand to her brow, she could hear mumblings of outrage from around the room but she didn’t join in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where is Margaery and Jon when I need them? They’ve been gone too long and still no letters. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Slowly, and with a long exhale of breath she calmly turned to the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> sisters. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Tyene</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> gone, can I even trust them? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Did you notice </span>
  <span>anything</span>
  <span> strange before yesterday or at all? I don’t believe she would’ve left without saying anything either of you.’ She didn’t want it to but, in her low, </span>
  <span>agitated</span>
  <span> tone it came off as an accusation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She received a letter several days ago, your Grace.’ </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> was quick to answer, neither seemed offended by her suggestion. ‘We asked her who from and she said it was from her mother, Ellaria. Ellaria was always fondest of our sister as she was her own. </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> said the letter just asked how she was and that she would write a reply on behalf of all of us.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I asked to see the letter, in case there was </span>
  <span>anything</span>
  <span> interesting that provoked Ellaria to send it but </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> was clear we couldn’t see it.’ Obara’s expression betrayed her annoyance with her own sister. ‘While she and </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> trained with swords, I excused myself and searched her rooms. There was nothing there- either she burnt the letter or kept it on her.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why didn’t you bring this to my attention, obviously you thought it was strange?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We meant to, last night, but when I was finished in her room, it was time to eat and I didn’t want to raise </span>
  <span>suspicions</span>
  <span> and not eat with my sisters as always. I planned to go with </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> after dinner to you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And yet you didn’t. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were asleep nearly before we reached our beds last night.’ </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> answered Sansa’s thoughts. ‘We’d had two cups of wine each but as soon as the food was taken away, we could barely keep our eyes shut and we agreed to rest early. </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> seemed to be feeling the same but that sneak must’ve been pretending to get us in bed. She must’ve have slipped milk of the poppy or a sleep draught into our drinks. You can ask the maids that woke us, it took great effort for us to roused.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked between the two of them. She knew the </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> to live up to expectations in being sly and oftentimes deadly yet neither of them appeared to be hiding anything. To Sansa, they both looked </span>
  <span>more angry</span>
  <span> at their sister’s betrayal than guilty of sharing her views or of aiding her escape. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That doesn’t mean I can trust them as I have before, but I can’t string them up for their sister’s actions, especially if they were doused into deep sleeps. The loss of a third of the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dornish</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> is much more concerning. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Thank you for your honesty. If you receive anything or hear anything from Ellaria or </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span>, come straight to me. I mislike their intentions.’ The </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> bowed their heads and left the room, leaving Sansa with her diminished council. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We still have the majority of the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span>, and the Northmen, and the wildlings.’ Theon was the first to address the silence. Sansa sat with her elbows on the table, head in her hands. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll need all we can get against the dead bastards.’ Sansa hadn’t even realised Tormund </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span> had joined them. He sat in the corner, picking his teeth with a stick of wood. She supposed he’d seen them marching towards the council rooms and had followed them in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been Queen just a few weeks and already those I had faith in are turning their backs on us when we need their </span>
  <span>support</span>
  <span> the most. I fear that is no coincidence. If Ellaria Sand did plan </span>
  <span>Tyene’s</span>
  <span> escape, it’s not hard to guess her intentions.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It may not be as it seems, perhaps Dorne needs the men. There was always the threat of Cersei </span>
  <span>targeting</span>
  <span> them for their support of you.’ Brienne tried to console her. The great woman looked strange in just breeches and an undershirt, covered with a thick cloak. Sansa hadn’t often seen her without some form of armour. At least </span>
  <span>Oathkeeper</span>
  <span> still sat at her hip.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If that were the case Prince Doran would have written to me to explain not used his brother’s whore to relay the message to one of her daughters. It doesn’t make sense.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Prince Doran is dead.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The doors of the chamber had swung open and three figures had stepped inside. One was Ser Davos who was muttering his apologies for them barging in but she wasn’t listening to him. A girl, around her age, with pretty brown eyes and knotted brown hair had wheeled in a moving chair, upon which sat the source of the voice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bran?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At once Sansa was on her feet and standing before the crippled boy. She still thought of her lost brother as a child yet the figure before her, even though seated, looked </span>
  <span>far</span>
  <span> older than she would’ve expected, even considering his age. She dropped down upon her knees to get a closer look, her deep blue eyes meeting their twin in him. At that, all her doubt and confusion melted away and she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing slightly at the absurdity. At first, his body tensed beneath her and she felt him inhale sharply. Just as she was about to pull away, however, he raised his arms and gently held onto her back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How... wh... who?’ All her questioned tumbled out at once. Above her, the girl giggled.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is Meera Reed.’ Bran spoke simply, his voice a great deal deeper than she remembered. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was stuck with him when the </span>
  <span>Greyjoys</span>
  <span> took the castle, my brother and I took him North and, when the time came, I brought him back home.’ She beamed, awash with pride. By the dark circles under her eyes and the state of her hair and clothes, Sansa guessed this had been a long and </span>
  <span>arduous</span>
  <span> journey.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How can I ever repay you?’ Sansa’s eyes drifted to the emptiness behind the Reed girl. ‘Your brother, </span>
  <span>Jojen</span>
  <span> is it?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did not make it.’ Meera’s smile faded. ‘We lost others too, the </span>
  <span>Maester</span>
  <span> here and the stable boy Hodor.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hodor? I’d nearly forgotten about that half-giant. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>And Summer.’ Bran finished. Although his eyes briefly flashed in pain, his voice and the rest of his face didn’t show it. Sansa on the other hand took hold of his hand and squeezed tightly, recalling the loss of her own direwolf, the haunting thought of her own father having to kill her sweet Lady. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You said something about Prince Doran?’ Lady Brienne brought her back to the council chambers. Sansa stood, letting him be wheeled into the table. She took her place at the head of the table but did not sit, pacing before the fire instead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s dead. Killed by Prince </span>
  <span>Oberyn’s</span>
  <span> paramour. With the Princess Arianne gone, Dorne is hers.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’ve just come from the North, how could you possibly know that?’ While Sansa was glad to see her brother alive and home once more, there was something unsettling about him that she couldn’t pinpoint. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things have changed since you last saw me, sister. For both of us. I can see things that others can’t. I saw you in your armour during the battle here- you looked beautiful.’ Whilst his words were sweet, he didn’t smile. Above him, Meera Reed gave nothing away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How can you see things?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it like how I keep seeing Stark’s wherever I turn?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bran smiled now. ‘I learnt many things North of the wall. I became the Three-Eyed Raven. The past, present and future are open to me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked to Meera, her eyes wide, shaking her head in absolute disbelief. ‘Is he talking in riddles?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not quite,’ the girl had taken a seat beside Bran, looking glad to take the weight off of her feet. Ser Davos had joined too. ‘Bran is a </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span>, like my brother was. He can slip into the bodies of animals at will. We reached a great </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> in the Haunted Forest and, before we were discovered by </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span>, this ancient man welcomed us. It was strange but it felt like I was destined to bring Bran there, though none of us had a bloody clue where we were going until we got there.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was the Three-Eyed Raven but the white walkers destroyed him and the title was passed to me. I’m sorry, sister, but I can never be the Bran you knew again.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa took a few minutes to take it all in. She glanced over to </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> Mormont who appeared just a confused as she was. On the other side of the room, Tormund was unbothered, now cleaning his nails with his spike. When she looked over to him, he caught her eye and looked towards Bran. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Beyond the wall his type </span>
  <span>are</span>
  <span> everywhere. Not weird ravens mind but there are plenty of </span>
  <span>wargs</span>
  <span>. There was talk of a big tree fucker that no one could find- you're saying you just happened across it?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It </span>
  <span>called</span>
  <span> out to us, drew us to it.’ Bran’s voice didn’t vary from its single, melancholy tone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well we shouldn’t be surprised, what with Jon and his wolf.’ Tormund set aside his spike and sat back into his seat.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon?’ Sansa looked between the wildling and Bran. Something passed between the two of the them.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon can </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span> into Ghost.’ Bran explained as if he’d been here all along. ‘He hasn’t done it many times but he’s been able to shift when he’s been desperate. With practice, he might prove a skilled skin-changer.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tormund looked over to her. ‘I’m just surprised you can’t do it. These things do tend to run in the family.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked around the room, all eyes had fallen upon her but she didn’t know what they wanted to hear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I’ve never been in another animal’s skin, I can’t even imagine what that would be like, how that would feel. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bran’s eyes were boring into her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could always tell him about the others things though; I can’t do it that here though, they’d think me insane. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>No, I have never </span>
  <span>experienced</span>
  <span> such a thing. It must’ve skipped me.’ the courtyard outside was beginning to fill with noise and activity. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I still have a whole day ahead of me. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bran’s eyes were still fixed on hers, giving nothing away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He knows I’m hiding something. Where did my little brother who liked to climb anything and everything go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She knew the answer to that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he died with his legs when Jaime pushed him from the tower. Still, Bran is my brother, however much of a stranger he has become. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> cannot be trusted from now on. I believe the </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> played no part in this but it is clear Ellaria is trying to weaken us and strengthen herself. We are fortunate </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> led the men South, we will deal with them later but, for now, the dead remain my </span>
  <span>priority</span>
  <span>. I still haven’t heard anything from Jon and Margaery. Without the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span>, we need the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen’s</span>
  <span> support more than ever.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You will get it.’ Bran mused quietly. Sansa went to ask him why but his eyes were burning white and his body had fallen still. Everyone bar Meera and Tormund moved to help him but they shrugged them off. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s </span>
  <span>warging</span>
  <span>.’ Meera explained, ‘do you mind if I leave him with you? I spotted my cousin as we entered.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa nodded and the girl skittered off. At the close of the door, Bran’s eyes were deep blue again. He looked around as if nothing had happened.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, everyone.’ Sansa smiled to the rest of the room, ‘we shall speak again later.’ Slowly the councillors of the North shuffled from their seats, leaving Bran and Sansa alone. She noticed he was staring but when she followed his </span>
  <span>gaze,</span>
  <span> she found only stone wall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want your crown, by the way.’ He spoke without warning, taking his eyes off the wall to meet hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t even cross my mind but, if he wanted, he could claim his birth-right and I’d have nothing. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>But I do want your trust. There’s something you’re not saying.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you mean?’ She deflected, avoiding his unrelenting stare. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You said you’d never </span>
  <span>warged</span>
  <span> but there was something you didn’t say.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Since when did he become so damn perceptive. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took a seat across from him and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I thought you can see these things easily, why can’t you just read my mind?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t read minds.’ She’d meant it as a joke but he didn’t see the humour. ‘I can see some things, but not everything. The past, especially, can be tricky to navigate.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For a while they sat in silence as she tried to find the words. The strange visions she’d been having had plagued her mind for a while but she hadn’t had the courage to ask anyone if they knew what was happening to her. She knew she could ask the Lady Melisandre without too much judgement but the red priestess didn’t pay her much attention, especially since she took the </span>
  <span>spot</span>
  <span> she thought was meant for Jon. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it possible,’ she began deliberately, ‘for someone to see the dead? To talk to them?’ She felt her face flush as she spoke, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I sound like a fool. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Who’ve you seen?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Father, mother, Robb and Lady.’ She replied without thinking. She didn’t stop to realise how quickly he’d believed her. ‘They’ve spoken to me and touched me, though they felt cold.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Could you just be imagining them?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d wondered that on many occasions. The dead members of her family only came to her when she needed their advice. Perhaps it was just her way of coping. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. They don’t look the way I remember them. Robb looked older and spoke about his journey South – I couldn’t have known that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bran narrowed his eyes, looking her over. ‘Are you certain you never warged? Jon and I had connections to our </span>
  <span>direwolves</span>
  <span>- you never saw life through Lady’s eyes? Never even dreamt you were her?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wracked her brains hard. She was certain she would remember such a dream if she’d had one. Her time with Lady had been so short though and no memories of wolf dreams came to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think so. No, I didn’t.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her brother continued to stare, his expression cold and unchanging. After several minutes of </span>
  <span>silence</span>
  <span> he hunched his shoulders forwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you ever heard of a spirit-seer?’ She shook her head. ‘Those who can converse with the dead are typically referred to as spirit-seers by the wildlings. Spirit-seers were the priests of the First Men; they felt a particular connection to </span>
  <span>weirwoods</span>
  <span> and would offer advice from ancestors to those that prayed with them. They are not so common now. No one ever found where their connection came from. With </span>
  <span>wargs</span>
  <span>, it’s simpler. We forge a connection to one animal but then we can move on and shift into whatever we like, whoever we like.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think I’m a spirit-seer?’ She raised an eyebrow at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s lost his mind. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>No.’ A hint of a smirk played on his otherwise stone features. ‘I think you’re a </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span> like Jon and I. I don’t think there’s such a thing as </span>
  <span>spirit-seers</span>
  <span> at all. As Tormund says, these things do run in families.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t understand.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were destined to find those </span>
  <span>direwolves</span>
  <span>, it is no coincidence those six pups were born and found on that day. One for each of the Stark children and the runt for Jon. Consider that you were meant to </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span> into Lady but you never got the chance. These things take time. Consider that the connection between you was forged but never acted upon. What if it still exists today?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that, she scoffed. ‘Lady’s dead, long dead. If I ever was supposed to </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span> into her, I never did. If what you say is right then that means I will never </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span> into anything. None of that explains what I’ve been seeing.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t believe I’m talking about </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>warging</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> as if it’s perfectly normal, as if an hour ago it wasn’t no more than one of old Nan’s bedtime stories. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Your connection was created but never cemented between you two so it exists today, drawing you towards Lady. You have a closer connection to death than you know, through Lady holding on. If you’re closer to death, then death is closer to you and thus the dead find their way towards you more easily than most of the living. Perhaps that’s all spirit-seers ever were.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She had nothing to say to that. Out of all the absurdity that had fallen from his lips, somehow it had all made sense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Death surrounds me because I’m tied to Lady. That would explain the comfort I find in the crypts. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s no way of proving that though. No others to ask.’ While her offered a neat explanation, from all she could tell, he’d just made jumps from </span>
  <span>warging</span>
  <span> into something else. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Close your eyes and think of Lady.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She went to refuse but decided against it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It won’t hurt. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>If you try </span>
  <span>warging</span>
  <span>, you may be brought closer to her, wherever she is. It’s difficult first time but just imagine yourself in her skin, slipping slowly deeper into each of her movements, feeling each of her breaths. Imagine the ground beneath paws instead of shoes, imagine walking on four legs instead of one, feel the pull of the moon and the forest.’ He lowered voice so it was soft, calming and drenched in wisdom. He spoke like a wizened old </span>
  <span>maester</span>
  <span>, not a boy of five and ten. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had felt herself drifting as he spoke but she was certain it was more from lack of sleep than her actually having any success at </span>
  <span>warging</span>
  <span>. She still couldn’t imagine what she was supposed to be imagining. She fixed her mind on everything she remembered about Lady. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was a way she used to stretch out beneath a fire and curl her legs under her. I always thought that I’d love to do that, if I knew others wouldn’t think me strange. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In her mind she saw herself stretching out, the heat of the flames strong upon her cheek but never overwhelming. It was so relaxing she thought she might actually fall asleep and, remembering herself, her eyes shot forward and she chuckled lightly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When she looked around, her laughter quickly faded. Though she’d closed her eyes in the stone-walled council chambers, sitting across from Bran, the map of Westeros before her, she’d opened them to near pure darkness. She knew there were things around her, things moving, but she couldn’t perceive them or even describe how she knew they were there. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did it. I really </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>warged</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> into Lady. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked down upon herself, expecting to find grey fur and four legs. Instead, she was still covered by flesh, still wearing the same gown she’d quickly dressed herself in that morning. She hadn’t shifted into Lady but the </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> was stirring around her feet, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get her attention. Sansa went to reach down and rub her between her ears, like she used to do, but Lady was gone, padding away. After walking a little far ahead, Lady stopped and turned her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose she wants me to follow her. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa did as the </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> bid her, following her wagging tail through the empty fullness of the dark plain she had found herself in. At once her stomach dropped and she turned quickly around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s nothing as far as I can see. I don’t know how I got here; what if I can’t get back out? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be a fool.’ A voice rang out across the empty space, full of spite. She recognised it instantly. When she turned back round to where Lady had been leading her, he was standing before her, still dressed in Lannister red and gold. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tywin Lannister. Where is this place?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck is he of all people doing here?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around and guffawed, ‘this is nowhere, nothing. Neither of us are really here. For a start, I’m dead.’ He said it so plainly, as if his own death didn’t matter to him. ‘Now, ask a </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>question, you’re not stupid.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘W-what do you want?’ She took a tentative step forward to stand in line with her direwolf. The Lannister Lord held his ground and his sneer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want anything, not anymore at least. If I could want for anything? I’d ask for some peace. This place gets busier every day. Or it would, if it existed.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Enjoy it while it lasts, soon it’ll be even busier.’ She didn’t quite know what they were talking about but she felt it was the right thing to say. ‘You won’t be able to move for Lannisters.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped his eyes at that and bared his teeth in a dark but delighted smile. ‘A quaint threat but empty. Who else do you plan on sending to their Gods? Only Cersei, </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span>, Jaime and Tyrion survive, who of those would you honestly kill? Surely only Cersei deserves your Northern justice?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There are more </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Lannisters</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> in the world than that, surely? ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>What about Tommen and your brother Kevan?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dead. Did you not know? What a story that is.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not Tommen, he never meant any harm. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> the round boy with the mess of blond curls and the pool of kittens at his feet. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell it.’ She demanded, taking another step forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine. Cersei blew up the Great Sept on the day of her trial. My brother was in the Sept at the time along with half of the court and council. After seeing the devastation, Tommen threw himself from his tower window. And just as his dear sister came to rescue him. They’ve crowned </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> Queen now, My daughter’s despair grows with each day.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know any of that. This must be real. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>What else?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else is there to tell? The Targaryen girl is in Dragonstone but you knew that, Ellaria Sand killed the Prince of Dorne but you knew that too.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She wrung her hands together. ‘What about the future? Bran said he could see-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I look like your crippled brother?’ Tywin interrupted, his voice booming through the silence. ‘I can’t see the future, but I can guess, I suppose.’ She nodded so he continued. ‘You’ll defeat the dead, at a great cost and will march South. You’ll have a powerful force but, with the path you are currently on, my daughter will still be the death of you.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you mean ‘the path I’m on’?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t accept that after all of this I’d let Cersei win in the end. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know, ask your priestess friend. There are prophecies sprouting up every day and most are lower than shit but there is one that has so far proven true. One that means you cannot be the one to kill my daughter. So, if you march on Kings Landing – you'll be the one losing your head.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What prophecy? Who is supposed to kill her? What else has been </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>fulfilled</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She tried to launch her questions at him but no sound came out of her gaping mouth. Sneer still spread across his features, Tywin Lannister turned and walked blindly into the darkness. She tried to follow him but Lady had her cloak between her teeth and was dragging her backwards. With one swift tug, she found herself falling backwards, the floor disappearing from beneath her. She closed her eyes, awaiting impact but nothing came. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When she opened </span>
  <span>them,</span>
  <span> she had returned to the council chambers, Bran staring at her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You did it.’ His voice remained monotone, lifeless. ‘I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come back.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t sound very relieved that I did. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>What did you see?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She brought her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the cold. It was strange, she hadn’t felt it in the darkness. ‘Lady was there but I wasn’t in her skin. There was nothing all around. She took me to see Tywin bloody Lannister. He told me things I could never know.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bran leaned forward again, ‘what did he tell you?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘About the sept exploding and about a prophecy, but he didn’t tell me anything about that.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Bran’s eyes shot to the back of his head, and he sat perfectly still for some minutes. When he returned to her, he nodded, his face contemplative. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was right. I don’t know what prophecy he spoke of, there are many, but the sept was destroyed recently. It’s strange that you could see a Lannister though, considering you aren’t related to him through blood.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I am through marriage. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa hoped that wasn’t what had drawn the old lion to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If that’s the case I’ll have Cersei Lannister and Joffrey haunting me for the rest of my life. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s much for me to think about. Thank you, Sansa.’ He looked towards the door and she got his meaning.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She stood and knocked on the wood. One of the Stark guards posted there opened the door and popped his head around the corner. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take my brother to his old chambers, or wherever else he would like to go, if you will.’ The man nodded and entered, taking </span>
  <span>hold</span>
  <span> of Bran’s wheeled chair and pushing him out. Her brother didn’t say anymore. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the near distance and something about his expression told her not to interrupt him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sat alone in the room for a while, her eyes drifting across the map. Up until now everything had seemed so certain but Tywin’s words were playing in her mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is what he said a prophecy in itself? And now that I know what I am, will I see ‘spirits’ more or less? </span>
  </em>
  <span>For the second time that day she wished Margaery and Jon were with her. Every day they remained at Dragonstone, her responsibility fell harder upon her shoulders and the dread building within her grew more powerful. At once there was a sudden fear that the next </span>
  <span>time</span>
  <span> she saw her Hand or brother would be as she had seen Lord Tywin: a shade of themselves in a murky realm. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was it that Bran said? ‘You have a closer connection to death than you know’. If that’s the case, perhaps it’ll be better that they stay away, that everyone stays away. I’ve already seen my father die, lost my mother, two brothers and Lady. Then </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Oberyn</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> took an arrow fighting for me. I cannot take anymore death. I won’t take anymore death. If I am Queen of death let me be Queen of death – let those who wronged be perish but I will do anything to keep everyone else alive. Let my reign put an end to the suffering and horrors of war, even if it costs life in the first place. I am the Burned Wold, Queen in the North and if anyone lays a hand of those I love, death will come to them soon. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again Jaime Lannister found himself travelling the </span>
  <span>Kingsroad</span>
  <span>, riding side by side with Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. The </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> had once again refused to leave his side, despite the retirement awaiting him in the castle he’d always wished for. Yet here he was, gloved fingers tightly clasped around his horse’s reins, keeping up beside Jaime. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Things had changed since their last journey together – up North to meet with Sansa Stark then South to Dorne- they spoke less and drunk more, they rarely shared a laugh or a sweet memory. Neither could forget King’s Landing, Jaime couldn’t ignore the deep pit in his stomach, bubbling with rage and guilt. It was hot and cruel and raging but it was his fuel too. He’d made his promises to Myrcella and nothing in the world would stop him from putting everything into fulfilling them. He’d made other oaths too, oaths that had lingered his mind, ones he though he’s cast aside not long after making them. Yet now they resurfaced and a new drive pushed him to their completion. Somewhere, he hoped, Lady Catelyn Stark looked fondly on his efforts. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been riding hard, both desperate to reach the North and finally settle for the time being. They reached the Twins within two weeks and were just making to drive theirs horses around the sister castles and chance the river, when Bronn called out to him that there were no banners hanging from the walls. When they’d passed through before, and when Jaime had returned to rescue Sansa Stark, the Frey tower sigil fluttered on flags and in long hangings draped from the ramparts and across the portcullis. Now these spaces were bare and little stirred outside the gates. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime drove his horse back towards the castles and dismounted, a single guardsman awaited them. Without a word he looked them over quickly and stepped aside, letting them pass through. As they entered, Jaime had a brief chance to glance at the </span>
  <span>man.</span>
  <span> He bore no </span>
  <span>sigils</span>
  <span> of </span>
  <span>Freys</span>
  <span> or otherwise and his clothes were next to motley, moth-bitten and worn down. He cast a curious eye over the inside of the first castle. A few servants shuffled around, some also in threadbare, but none bearing any </span>
  <span>sigils</span>
  <span>. A serving girl who passed them wore a dress of no note bar the rectangular patch of fabric that had not faded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’ve torn off their </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>sigils</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. The </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Freys</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> have gone. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They passed along the bridge and into the next castle, seeing nothing that explained the lack of Lord. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Old Frey had enough offspring, did he not? If he died, he had ample supply of heirs to fill his place. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They left without incidence, neither having uttered a word since they entered. As their horses reached grass again, Bronn let out a breath of air and shook his head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bloody fucked with my mind, that did.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Someone’s wiped the </span>
  <span>Freys</span>
  <span> off the map. None of those weasels would allow their servants to tear off their </span>
  <span>sigils</span>
  <span> and run the castles themselves.’ He pulled on his reins and they began to pick up speed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not to mention nobody seemed to care that the last time we were here you butchered a legion of their men.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime said nothing but kept his eyes fixed ahead of him. Something told him they’d find an explanation at Winterfell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait, my Lords!’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the shout and the sound of horse’s hooves fast approaching, both wheeled around, just in time to catch sight of their pursuer as he shot past them. Bronn raised his eyebrows and both shared a rare smile. Eventually the rider got control of his horse and pulled it to a halt. He swung himself off and took of the reins, walking back in their direction. Guessing the boy wasn’t a great threat, Jaime followed suit and dismounted to meet him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank the Gods,’ he began in the rough accent of Flea Bottom. ‘I’ve been riding so hard but I thought I’d never catch you. You’re Jaime Lannister, aren’t you?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you are?’ The boy was older than Jaime first expected. Well built, of medium height and sporting a dark mess of thick hair and beard. His eyes were eyes were of bright blue, sticking out from his dirtied face and hair. With a squarer jaw and bushier brows, Jaime was nearly convinced a young Robert Baratheon was standing before them. He carried a pack on his back and his horse was strapped with provisions too. Jaime noticed Bronn had taken particular to the weapon the boy had strapped from his hip: a war-hammer, not unlike the one Robert had used in his prime during his rebellion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gendry Waters. I saw you riding past after the sept went up. I was in the forge. I knew I wasn’t safe in the city anymore so I packed my things, stole a horse and tried to catch up with you.’ He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, as if he had run the distance from King’s Landing to the Neck. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Robert Baratheon’s bastard?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that. Gendry took a step back, raising a hand to his hip defensively. From above, Bronn chuckled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime raised his hand and took a step towards him. ‘I’m not my sister, I won’t hurt you. I thought they culled all of you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t care whose cunt you sprang from, nor which cock.’ Bronn held his mare steady. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got out of the city before that happened. When Ned Stark was imprisoned, I just had a feeling I had to go. Then I came back and everything felt normal again until I had that same feeling.’ He looked between them both. ‘Where are you heading?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Winterfell. You?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s in the Stark’s hands now, right?’ They both nodded and a warmth filled his cheeks. ‘Would you mind if I travelled with you – I won’t be no </span>
  <span>bother;</span>
  <span> I’ve got food and wine skins. I can fight too, if need be.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime looked over to Bronn, raising his eyes in a silent question. Bronn only shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why not? Being the only one capable of holding a sword has been draining.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Jaime scowled before bursting into laughter. Gendry looked on in confusion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t know how long it’s been since I laughed or even smiled. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>What’s in Winterfell for you? Been there before?’ The bastard boy had climbed back on to his mount and pulled in beside them. Sitting tall astride his horse, he couldn’t have looked more like his father. Before he grew stupid and fat, that was. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I travelled North with someone who was heading in that direction. If the Starks are back in power, she could’ve made it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A woman?’ Bronn leered. ‘Tell me she’s a great beauty, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one.’ The desperation in his voice and twinkle in his eye almost reduced Jaime to laughter again. This was the Bronn that had brought his brother back with him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The boy looked between them, the flush on his face growing deeper by the second. He went to say something then held his tongue. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let him be. A young man in love is a rare thing these days, don’t spoil it with your filth.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not in love with her.’ Gendry protested but his face continued to betray him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What would a smith like him be doing romancing a Northern girl? Must’ve come down with the Starks. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hadn’t heard of any girls from the North arriving in Kings Landing and then heading North. Still, it’s a big city and to track all its inhabitants would take the </span>
  <span>entirety</span>
  <span> of the Citadel. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chances are his girl never made the trip but I can’t refuse him and Bronn’s right, we need the extra sword-hand. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Ser Jaime?’ Not long after they began, Jaime noticed Gendry’s attention had been brought to one of the packs he had strapped to his horse. ‘Your bag is moving.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime’s eyes drifted down and he allowed himself a snigger. Ser Pounce had awoken and was getting restless again. Still in the saddle, he reached into a pouch at his hip and dropped a small piece of dried fish into the writhing bag. The cat wasn’t fond of being transported in a sack and Bronn had told him to ditch the cat at the first inn </span>
  <span>theiy</span>
  <span> passed. He tried to sell him to the </span>
  <span>innkeep</span>
  <span> but he couldn’t bring himself to it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A cat.’ He explained simply, bringing his focus back onto the road head and smiling at the sight of Gendry in the corner of his eye, his face screwed together and his eyes darting between him and the bag. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They rode hard for Winterfell, passing easily through the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span>-held causeway, putting the swamp-lands far behind them. They were encamped beside the </span>
  <span>Kingsroad</span>
  <span>, horses hidden in the </span>
  <span>shubbery</span>
  <span> when the sound of mass movement brought them to attention. Gendry had been watching but the noise was enough to wake him and Bronn. From their position, hidden in a ditch covered with a fallen tree, they watched the approach of men, led by a woman, bearing the </span>
  <span>sigil</span>
  <span> of Dorne. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dornish!’ Bronn whispered beside Jaime. ‘They’re with the Northerners, we should speak with their leader.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t see a </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> banner, nor any other banner of the North. If they were marching in support of Sansa Stark, </span>
  <span>surely</span>
  <span> they wouldn’t try to hide it. He thought of the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> keeping the causeway. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary to him but he had noticed they’re were rows of wagons loaded with crates and bags set up on the way in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ He mumbled, holding up a hand across Bronn’s chest. ‘We stay here.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The men were nearly passed them when a horse’s shriek filled the nearly silent air. The sound of boots marching stopped suddenly, followed by a barrage of shouts and screams and the sound of sword meeting sword. Those on their feet had run forward towards the source of the noise and a few on horses were struggling to keep their mounts under control. The three of them leaned slowly from their vantage point, craning their necks to get a look at the commotion. The night had laid a misty blanket on the ground so only distant figures of people and horses, writhing and struggling, could be seen. After several minutes of movement, a man’s voice called out and all the noise ceased as quickly as it had </span>
  <span>begun</span>
  <span>. Before any of them could emerge, a pounding of boots and hooves shook the ground, the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> forces fleeing at full speed in the direction of Moat </span>
  <span>Cailin</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They held fire, waiting for the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> to get far enough away to be sure they wouldn’t be discovered by any stragglers. Just as Gendry had his foot propped up on a ledge and was pushing himself out of the ditch, the sudden beat of shoes against the ground forced him back inside. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid being seen and the figure jogged towards them, stopping before the ground dipping under the fallen tree. Weapons drawn, they could only see a pair of boots above them and the figure bending to life the branches and reveal them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I knew it!’ A </span>
  <span>girls</span>
  <span> voice above them exclaimed at the tree was shrugged off. She was met by two blades and Gendry’s great </span>
  <span>warhammer</span>
  <span> but she didn’t flinch or even go for the hilt of the sword at her hip.  By the moonlight he knew her to be almost a woman but still bearing the look of youth. She wore the leather breeches and doublet of a man but her hair was long and dark, accompanied by grey eyes, reflecting off their steel. Her pale face was spotted with brown – fresh blood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve seen her before but-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gendry?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What in the name of the fucking Seven?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Cyvasse Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘And... I win.’ Margaery proclaimed, dropping her final piece on the board and sitting back in triumph. Her opponent, Asha Greyjoy, leaned over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyvasse</span>
  </em>
  <span> table, making unintelligble sounds of confusion.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How in the name of the bloody Drowned God did you win </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ She narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. They'd filled most of their days on the ship in Dragonstone harbour playing or telling stories. Margaery found the tales of Asha’s uncles and cousins on par with the tumult of the Southern courts. The Kraken prided herself on her skills at the game but Margaery had beaten her nearly every time; Asha won once and hadn’t let anyone forget it since. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Asha Greyjoy was not what Margaery had expected. Upon their first meeting, she’d found the girl too proud and standoffish, focused solely on herself and the Iron Islands. Then she’d encouraged Sansa to fight at Winterfell and had fought alongside her too. She recalled her grandmother’s words:</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Women who fight with men’s swords are doing so because they lack the grace and charm to get themselves good husbands. They know if they can’t have children, they might as well lift an axe or shoot an arrow.’ Lady </span>
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> had cackled at her own wit. Margaery, at the time, had joined in. She’d never seen a woman fighting before but stories were told in legends, legends that the </span>
  <span>matriarch</span>
  <span> of Highgarden didn’t like her granddaughter hearing. ‘All of this folly will give her stupid ideas.’ The Queen of Roses had once berated a singer who dared sing of a sword maiden. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At Winterfell she was surrounded by women bearing impressive blades. The </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> were the most accomplished warriors she’d met but then she was introduced to Brienne of Tarth and Asha and even little </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> Mormont. Not quite a great warrior yet but in training alongside the boys her age. That was the way in Dorne and on Bear Island and no one seemed at all bothered than any of these women would wind up barren. Many of the </span>
  <span>fantasies</span>
  
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> Tyrell had put in her head had faded over the years so Margaery didn’t mourn this one’s loss. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>While they waiting on the ship, Margaery concluded that Asha Greyjoy wasn’t just daughter of the Kraken, she was the sea monster itself. Or else a storm, bottled and made into a person. If any of the crew questioned her, she released the gusts of fury and they quickly learnt never to do the same again. She ate and drank alongside them though, as if they’d known </span>
  <span>eachother</span>
  <span> for years. At first, Margaery had taken her meals in her cabin but, with Jon up in the keep most days, she grew to dread the loneliness and asked Asha to introduce her. That night she’d spent hours between each member of the crew, sharing bawdy jokes and crude stories until the wine and ale sent them into stupors. It was one of the best nights she’d had in a long time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lady Hand, Captain?’ Asha’s first boy knocked at the captain’s cabin’s door and took a small step inside. When they both turned to face him, he opened the door fully to reveal Tyrion Lannister, wrapped in a dark cloak bearing the red Targaryen </span>
  <span>sigil</span>
  <span> beside the Lannister lion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lady Margaery, Lady Asha.’ He bowed his head as he entered, his eyes </span>
  <span>brightening</span>
  <span> a little as they fell upon the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyvasse</span>
  </em>
  <span> table. ‘A fine game, it appears. A shame I missed it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lord Tyrion.’ Margaery smiled warmly. ‘It is good of you to come see us.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s not just here for a social visit, he wants something. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You are most kind, my Lady. I would’ve come down here sooner but we have been busy in the keep. I had hoped to see you both up there, however. We have missed you at mealtimes.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Asha?’ Margaery spoke sweetly. ‘Do you mind giving me and Lord Tyrion a moment?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Greyjoy didn’t mind much, she shrugged her shoulders and left without another word but with a look that said – ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I expect you to tell me everything later’. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Something told Margaery she would find that difficult to refuse.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How is Jon? I barely see him.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t say I’ve had much more time with him either. He’s spending most of his time with the Queen.’ He began replacing the figures on each side of the board before putting up the card so he could reset them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That can’t be good.’ She followed suit, preparing for another game. ‘When I last saw them in a room together, I got the feeling they weren’t seeing eye to eye. Starks are known to be </span>
  <span>particularly</span>
  <span> stubborn.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And brooding- he's done enough of that. The gales on the hills seem to suit him well.’ They both removed their shields and he looked over her arrangement. She noticed he kept most of his dragons back – </span>
  <em>
    <span>he'll save his big pieces for a final, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>devastating</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> move. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He moved a rabble piece forward. ‘But she hasn’t had him feed to the dragons yet so he must be doing something right.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hm.’ She </span>
  <span>murmured</span>
  <span> as she advanced her light horse</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon not being eaten does bode well for us. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That is pleasing to hear, I expect. Is it not? I can’t think of any reason why the Hand of the Queen would spend her time on a boat, whilst a bastard plays at diplomacy.’ He lined a set of crossbowmen along the top of a mountain. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No one knows the dead more than Jon. Sansa trusted him as she does me, or else he wouldn’t be here.’ She moved an elephant over a river. ‘He seemed to be handling the situation, why complicate matters?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why let a bastard outshine you?’ He put down his next piece, a heavy horse, down with a little more force on the marble board. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery sat back in her seat before she </span>
  <span>contemplated</span>
  <span> her next move, in both the game and their conversation, Tyrion followed her closely. ‘Why is it that you are here, my Lord?’ Her sweet voice dropped away, ‘you have something you mean to say – so say it.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>If he won’t move a dragon, I will. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing, you </span>
  <span>and</span>
  <span> Sansa.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And what game is that?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re pushing them </span>
  <span>together;</span>
  <span> don’t tell me you aren’t. That’s why Sansa isn’t here and you’re avoiding the keep. You’re wagering something will happen between them.’ He advanced his rabble closer to her lines.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Of course</span>
  <span> we are.’ She moved her heavy cavalry forward and took out his rabble. ‘Are you going to bet against us?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now Tyrion sat back and shook his head. There was a hint of pride in his eyes that she couldn’t miss. ‘No. It’s dangerous but- well it’s worked so far.’ He took back his lost piece mournfully and ceded her his go. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh?’ She returned to her sweet lilt. ‘How so?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could Jon really have worked so fast? I suppose men of the Night’s Watch are separated from women and he’s worn blacks since he was boy. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s leaving.’ At once he sat forward and took hold of his dragon between nimble fingers. With a flash of a grin he placed it in the dead centre of the board. ‘I win.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to find her words, she searched the board. After she’d taken the small rabble piece, she’d left her King undefended and the Dragon, with its long range, was enough to take it. She let out a slightly </span>
  <span>aggravated</span>
  <span> breath but nodded, impressed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Asha will not hear about this. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At once, his words came back to her. ‘He’s leaving, where?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion tided the board and stood, making for the table set up with ale and wine. To her surprise, he poured himself a cup of sweet honeyed wine instead of the strong Arbour red. ‘He’s convinced Daenerys that there’s something in the North but she still won’t stake her own men on it. He’s going to get some men together to go beyond the wall and capture one of these wights. He’ll be down here soon to tell you himself but I thought it was best you heard beforehand.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>North of the wall? For the sake of the Dragonqueen? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa wouldn’t agree with this. It’s too much of a risk.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And that’s why I’m telling you before you meet with Jon. </span>
  <span>So</span>
  <span> you don’t try and stop him.’ He passed her a cup but she set it down hard. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t presume to tell me what to do. I have every right to represent my Queen as you do for yours. If I think Sansa would bar him from this stupidity, I should be able to say so.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His voice lowered and there was a sense of urgency in his eyes. ‘I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you what’s best to do. You need us and, though she won’t admit it, Daenerys needs you. I believe that the dead are real and a threat but this is the only way you can get the forces that you really need to survive. I’m looking out for Sansa just as much as you are.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery looked over him in curiosity; he appeared mostly calm but his tone was tinged with desperation that she couldn’t ignore. ‘But to risk everything just for her? Is she not asking too much?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perhaps. But the </span>
  <span>wight</span>
  <span> isn’t just for her. They’ll be taking it South to King’s Landing. Daenerys thinks they may be able to convince Cersei to join the Northern forces.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Margaery openly laughed, throwing her head back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is no way Cersei Lannister would ever join forces with </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>direwolves</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> or dragons. The dead could be knocking at the city gates and she’d still refuse. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I hope you’ve counselled against this?’ She managed to spit out after her laughter had ceased. ‘You’re smarter than that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have.’ He admitted. ‘But it is Jon that is the force behind it. He says the only way we can beat the dead is with the whole of Westeros behind us. Daenerys is less willing to make any kind of peace with the woman in her place.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then she is wise. Jon, however, is not.’ She stood from her seat and stood before him. ‘I will speak to him, convince him that going South will be a waste of time. You had better be right though, in thinking this whole plan isn’t doomed for failure.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, Lady Hand. If I’m wrong, you may hold it against it for as long as we both.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And have Sansa despise me for mistreating her husband? I’d rather keep my head.’ She smirked at that and, seeing everything seemed set, went towards the door. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As her hand reached the handle, Tyrion Lannister turned to her, tilting his head slightly to the side. In the limited light, she swore she spotted a slight flush on his cheeks. ‘Speaking of Sansa, has she replied to your letter yet? Will she be joining us?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I never sent the letter.’ She replied simply pulling the door open and smiling sweetly. ‘Goodbye Lord Tyrion.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Hand smirked and nodded, ‘goodbye Lady Margaery.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Asha Greyjoy reappeared and sat herself back down in the captain’s chair before the desk littered with papers and random artefacts Margaery couldn’t name. Asha insisted the captain’s quarters in her main long-ship, before it was put to the torch by Stannis Baratheon was time times the size of the White Harbour galley’s and filled to the brim with oddities collected over the years. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘So?’ The Kraken lifted her feet onto the desk and leant backwards. Margaery was looking out through the porthole towards the keep looming overhead. She turned suddenly and met her eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ready the ship, we’re going North –again.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The walls of Winterfell were shorter than she remembered and more heavily guarded. On their way through the fields surrounding the keep, they’d passed several encampments of men from the </span>
  <span>Eeyrie</span>
  <span> and Dorne. Inside, she could hear the sound of even more bodies at work. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The last stunt of the journey had been an interesting one. While she was delighted to be reunited with Gendry, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with the company he was keeping. Jaime Lannister put a spear through her father’s leg and though he wasn’t on her list of names, she thought he probably deserved a spot for that alone. Still, when he learned her identity, he and his </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> dropped their weapons and climbed from their ditch. He’d seemed impressed by the bodies left on the road and had invited her to join them on the last stretch of the Kingsroad before they finally reached their destination. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who knew so many people have been bound for Winterfell?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gendry was different from what she remembered. Though there were only a few years between them, he’d always appeared much older than he was, owing to his broad shoulder and height. Now, however, there was no denying he was a man – bearded with defined muscles and a deeper voice since they parted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he thinking the same as me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wondered as she mounted a horse left without its </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> rider, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is he thinking about how different I look? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They spent most of the trip filling </span>
  <span>eachother</span>
  <span> in on their journey. She was mostly informing Gendry but didn’t mind when the other two listened in. She didn’t stop them either when they told their stories. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The world has changed even more than I realised, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought afterwards, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but at </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> my home will always be my home. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Their group of four dismounted outside the gates. Jaime went to introduce himself to the guards but Arya went in first. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Northerners aren’t </span>
  <span>particularly</span>
  <span> fond of </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span>, even if my sister is.’ She’d given him a warning look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m still not certain about him. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Where are you going?’ The fat guard held out an arm when she tried to pass through. She looked up towards him. He reeked of potatoes and broth. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘In there. I live here.’ She tried to move past him again but his companion brought his hand to his sword belt. The two of them laughed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck off.’ He tried to push her back but she held her ground. Behind her, she sensed the movement of the boys going for their weapons. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m Arya Stark. Winterfell is my home.’ It had been some time since she’d said her name out loud. It sounded strange, foreign. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now they were both bent double in laughter, the fattest holding onto his belly in amusement. She was less impressed and waited for them to finish. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arya Stark is dead. Went to King’s Landing and never came back. Everyone knows that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Send for my sister, Sansa Stark. She’s your </span>
  <span>Queen</span>
  <span> isn’t she? Or my brother, Jon Snow.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The first guard shook his head. ‘It’s cold, we’re busy. So, you know, best fuck off.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You may not believe me but if I really am Arya Stark and the Queen finds out you turned me and my companions away...’ She glanced between them both, neither spoke but their </span>
  <span>joviality</span>
  
  <span>had melted into unease. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At last one relented. ‘Fine. You four stay right here. I’ll clear this mess up.’ He opened the gate and passed through, leaving the other to keep watch. He leant on his sword, eyes darting between them. At last the gate creaked back open and Arya jumped forward, expecting her sister to emerge. She fell back on her heels when it was only the guard who leant into his companion and muttered too quiet for them to hear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. ‘Come through then, but keep your hands where I can see them. The Queen will see you but if you’re playing a mummer’s game here you should know she isn’t one to cross. You sure you want to risk it?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya grinned. ‘I’m sure.’ She gestured to those behind her and, with a shrug, the guard held open the gate and led them inside. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As she expected, the courtyard was humming with life and activity. Like the causeway, those she could see hailed from across the realm. Some </span>
  <span>Dornishmen</span>
  <span> were sparring, some </span>
  <span>crannogmen</span>
  <span> fashioning spearheads, Northmen were carrying carts of barrels and some strange men and women in a mismatch of furs, covered in weapons were helping them. She scanned the yard for any sign of her sister’s red hair but it was near impossible in the crowds. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Queen is busy at the moment.’ The guard explained when they reached a quieter area, ‘she asks to be left alone at this time every day. You’ll have to wait here for her.’ He’d brought them to the </span>
  <span>entrance</span>
  <span> of the crypts. That was curious, Sansa hadn’t liked the darkness and cold of the crypts before. She’d constantly fret that she’d be put down their when she died whilst Arya had revelled in the idea of her tomb alongside the Kings of Winter. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arya?’ A man’s voice cut across the courtyard. Arya looked upwards in the direction it had come from. From the battlements she spotted a familiar face, and looked to the guard to see his disbelief. He’d reddened in </span>
  <span>embarrassment</span>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Not long later, Theon Greyjoy jogged towards them, looking between their group with almost manic eyes. She could tell he had a lot of questions and she had several for him too. Now, however, she settled for him bending down to catch her in his arms and mussing her hair after releasing her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How- when- who?’ He looked to her companions and his eyes abruptly narrowed. ‘Is that Jaime fucking Lannister?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It certainly is,’ Bronn called out, ‘and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater too – at your service.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Theon took her arm and moved her to the side, speaking in a hushed tone. ‘Have you been with them all along? Are they ransoming you to your sister?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She shook him off and let a slight chuckle escape her lips. ‘No, do you think I’d let them do that? We met on the road here. Jaime wants to speak with Sansa too.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Theon still looked uncertain but his expression softened. ‘If you say so. I’ll take you to her.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>No,</span>
  <span> you won’t!’ Arya had nearly forgotten the guard was still with them. ‘I’ve had orders to leave the Queen alone in the crypts. She won’t be disturbed unless it’s an emergency.’ He went to stand in front of the entrance but Theon was quicker and got there first. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Her long lost sister has just returned home. Do you not think that warrants an exception? Do you </span>
  <span>want</span>
  <span> to be the man who stopped the Queen seeing her sister for any longer? No?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For the second time in an hour the guard shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking towards them. He dropped his shoulders and stood aside, bearing a face contorted in </span>
  <span>aggravation</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait here.’ Arya turned back to her companions as Theon pushed the door open. ‘It’s only really a place for Starks. I’ll let her know that you’re here.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>From the top of the stairs, Theon called down into the candle-lit vault. In the darkness, Arya craned her neck but couldn’t see her sister. ‘Your Grace? There’s someone here for you, it couldn’t wait.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>From the other side of the cavern, where Arya knew her immediate family to be entombed, she could just here a voice muttering. She </span>
  <span>recognised</span>
  <span> Sansa’s voice in an instant but couldn’t hear who she was talking </span>
  <span>to.</span>
  <span> Then there was a shuffling of feat and material on the stone floor and, from the black, a figure emerged. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tall, slim and crowned in silver, Arya watched her sister approach. She wore a black gown brought together at the waist by a thick dark belt that sat underneath a sword-belt bearing only a small knife. At her throat, a silver chain hung and Arya swore at the end she could see a small, sharp point – </span>
  <em>
    <span>like an enlarged sewing needle. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She bore a heavy grey cloak about her shoulders that swept the floor behind her. Arya searched her sister’s face. From above, her sharp features were highlighted by the flicking light – her jaw wide and strong, her cheekbones high and defined. Her auburn hair had been braided and tied behind her in an intricate bun. Arya had always known her sister to be a beauty but, now of age, she knew her sister had managed to outdo herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s alright, I was nearly finished anyway.’ Sansa called upwards. ‘Who is it?’ Arya guessed that she couldn’t be seen and devised a plot to really test her sister. When Theon turned to urge her down the stairs, the space where she had stood was empty and he shot upwards, searching the crypts. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya had darted down the stairs and smothered herself in the darkness. She crept around the oldest tombs, watching her footing, until she was behind Sansa. At that point she emerged from her spot and started forwards, unsheathing Needle and aiming it towards her sisters back. At the last second, Sansa whirled around and both sisters stopped dead – a slim blade at Sansa’s stomach and a knife at Arya’s throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Impressive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya thought to herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not quick enough but still better than she ever was before. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya?’ Sansa’s </span>
  <span>measly</span>
  <span> weapon clattered as it hit the stone floor and Arya had to quickly sheath her own to avoid impaling her sister as she was pulled into her arms. Sansa squeezed hard and held on for an abnormally long time but Arya didn’t mind, Winterfell hadn’t quite felt like home until then. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When she was finally allowed out of Sansa’s choke hold, Arya noticed her sister welling up and spluttering with questions so she piped up first. ‘Do I have to call you Queen Sansa now?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa hiccoughed in a mixed sob and laugh, taking Arya’s face between her hands. ‘No, you don’t.’ Arya went to pull await but stayed as Sansa’s expression shifted into a serious look. ‘You should call me Your Grace or my Queen.’ For a moment Arya believed her sister but the ruse slipped away when Sansa’s face softened and her eyes crinkled in laughter. Arya delivered her a swift fist to the arm in payment. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It suits you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your Grace</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Dramatically she grabbed at a non-</span>
  <span>existent</span>
  <span> gown and </span>
  <span>curtsied</span>
  <span> low. ‘We should find Jon. There’s no point in explaining myself twice.’ In truth she had been desperate to see her half-brother since she’d heard he’d helped Sansa take the castle back. Robb had treated her like one of the girls, Sansa had treated her like one of the boys and Bran liked to boast about all the training he was given that she was missing out on. Jon seemed the only one who understood her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway, I need to thank him for needle, saved my life more than enough times. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa shook her head. ‘Jon’s thousands of miles away. He’s at Dragonstone treating with Daenerys Targaryen. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’ She looked down sadly for a moment and Arya could feel the worry her sister exuded. ‘But, Bran’s home.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya tilted her head. Joy bubbled within her but her sister’s face had given her trepidation away. ‘Should I be glad about that?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What? Y-yes of course. He’s just different. We can go see him if you like.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya nodded and they began back towards the stairs where Theon still waited at the top. Something came to her and she stopped mid-step and faced Sansa. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They say you killed Joffrey. Did you?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked down at her feet and </span>
  <span>hesitated</span>
  <span>. ‘Yes, alongside Margaery Tyrell.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanted to be the one that did it, I was angry when I heard someone else did but I’m glad it was you. He was always top of my list.’ She started again but Sansa remained. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘List?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of people I’m going to kill.’ She replied bluntly, hoping for a reaction. Sansa just breathed out through her nose and smirked. If anything, Arya felt understanding rather than shock. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How did you get back to Winterfell?’ Sansa began when they reached the top. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a long story and not a simple one. One that requires good food and wine. I’m sure yours is the same.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye. Food and </span>
  <span>wine</span>
  <span> it shall be.’ She took Arya’s arm and they began towards the door. Arya decided to wait to tell her sister who was waiting outside. She hadn’t given her quite the shock she was suspecting but the sudden appearance of Jaime Lannister should be jarring enough. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. I forgot to say. I think I am deserving of your gratitude, perhaps a reward?’ She stopped her before they left. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For what?’ Sansa cast a curious look over her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I should’ve arrived here at least a week but one morning I spot some </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> men marching in the opposite direction. I’d passed through Moat </span>
  <span>Cailin</span>
  <span> so I knew they’d joined you and I went to introduce myself and find out where they were going. But then I heard them talking and knew they weren’t with you any longer. Their leader, </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> Sand, was particularly pissed off and I couldn’t let anyone disgrace my royal sister like that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You killed her?’ The colour from Sansa’s cheeks drained away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘There and then? Of course not.’ Arya reassured as Sansa’s smile hesitantly returned. ‘I fell in with them, rode beside their leader for a while to find out what they were planning. They were going to march back to Dorne where her mother would raise an army against you, striking when you came South. Then I knew I couldn’t let her continue.’ She decided not to disguise her pride. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arya...’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘One night I was riding alongside her and I opened her throat. There was chaos then but I got some others too. Many got away but they’ll take the message back to Dorne not to try us.’ She beamed in the semi-darkness.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s arm fell from her and she had to lean on the wall to keep herself upright. ‘What have you done?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They wanted you dead, Sansa. Now they won’t be so inclined towards wronging us.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>How can she be upset that I took out her enemies?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Her sisters are here, still with us.’ Sansa’s voice grew, echoing off the chamber walls. ‘We need the remaining  </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> forces to hold Winterfell but if they hear of this-’ Her voice trailed off and she pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Did they know who you were?’ Her voice was small, hopeful. ‘How did you manage to ride beside her without getting noticed?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that Arya pulled off the pack still strapped to her back and began rifling through the contents. At last she found was she was searching for and pulled it out. Sansa let out a shriek and flattened herself against the wall to get as far away as possible. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s only a skinned face, I wasn’t so squeamish when I first saw one. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At the shout, Theon had jumped between them but was now driven equally silent by what she was holding. Arya sighed and put it back away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just a disguise.’ She explained. ‘I took it off the real </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> officer and took his place.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I’ve shocked her now. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>S-s-so </span>
  <span>Tyene</span>
  <span> and everyone thought you were </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span>? Perhaps this is not so bad.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not quite. I thinking ripping the face off and shouting, ‘tell Ellaria Sand that Arya Stark sends her regards’ may have given it away. Sansa prefers the other version though, let her believe that for now. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>See. Nothing to worry about. Now, come on. I have another surprise waiting outside for you.’ To distract her quickly she grabbed Sansa’s arm and directed her back towards the door. Theon held it open for them and they pushed back into the sunlight. For a moment, Sansa blinked, a hand shielding her eyes but when she dropped it, she continued to blink rapidly in disbelief. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As they emerged, Jaime, Bronn and Gendry had bowed deeply before them and stood to attention when they rose. Sansa continued to say nothing and Arya had to muffle her laughter behind her hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace.’ Jaime dipped once more and caught hold of her hand, ghosting his lips over her gloved hand. ‘It’s good to see you looking so well.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa was still looking between those assembled and the words were still failing her. Eventually Arya stepped forward and took the lead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Food and wine?’ She raised her eyebrows at her dumbstruck sister. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Drawn </span>
  <span>slightly</span>
  <span> from her trance she nodded </span>
  <span>vigorously</span>
  <span>. ‘Food and wine.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A few days passed before any news of Jon reached her. Ever since her brother and sister’s returns to Winterfell, Sansa had found herself even more eager for Jon and Margaery to return safely. Even more was at stake now, especially with their relationship with the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> hanging by a frayed string. After all stories had been shared, which took the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening, they all fell in around the fire in silence. As each tale was told, she could feel the relief </span>
  <span>dissipating</span>
  <span> in their air. Arya, especially, had been on the move for too long and just the act of releasing her stories and sitting by the fire was enough to send her to sleep. As they sat quietly, Sansa made the decision to trust Jaime and Bronn. It wasn’t a difficult one to make and she hardly had to think about it. Yes, Jaime had once loved his sister, the same woman Sansa sought to kill, but she believed him when he said he was long past that. She saw the contempt in his eyes and, in his small looks and turns of phrase, she saw Tyrion too, shining through his brother. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bronn was much the same. How could she turn away the man who had risked himself to save Tyrion for a small price? </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must be the worst sell-sword in the world. How much of his work for the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Lannisters</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> has he actually been paid for? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bronn had brought her small moments of joy too, in King’s Landing with his bawdy tales and crude songs. Even if he hadn’t, she needed every skilled fighter she could get hold of. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gendry was an unknown to her but she didn’t need to be a genius to read him like a book. She wasn’t surprised to find out he was the natural son of Robert Baratheon nor, by the way he and Arya looked at one another (only when the other wasn’t looking) was she surprised to learn they had travelled extensively together. There was potential in him too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If Daenerys </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Targaeryen</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> refuses our offer of alliance, it’s good to have a few other contenders for the Iron Throne on my side. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It didn’t matter much to her that he was base-born. Jon had taught her that meant little in reality and anyway, as a Queen, such issues were easily overcome. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime became a member of the council quickly and, despite initial friction, his </span>
  <span>experience</span>
  <span> as a commander was priceless and everyone knew his worth well, especially with Jon still in Dragonstone. She was glad to see the little smiles on her sworn-shield's face that she only noticed since the Lannister’s arrival. Brienne of Tarth had a history with Jaime, Sansa knew, and the tension between them had put Tormund </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span> in a sour mood. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They were seated in the council chambers, finalising the castle’s defensives when </span>
  <span>Maester</span>
  
  <span>Tomos</span>
  <span> arrived, a letter in his shaking hands. Jaime and Arya had taken the two seats closest to her, usually occupied by Jon and Margaery and Lady Brienne, Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span>, Ser Davos, Theon and Tormund filled out the rest of the table. Bran was with them, asking to sit close to the fire, separate from the table. Nearby, Lady Melisandre of </span>
  <span>Asshai</span>
  <span> had joined them too. Sansa had invited Gendry but, after knowing the Red Priestess would be present, he’d refused ardently. She didn’t blame him, after the strange tales he spun. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took hold of the letter and broke the </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> seal, finding her own fingers trembling. She read the words quickly but found herself going back to read them again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s from Jon though the Lady Hand has signed as well.’ She was at least glad for that, to know they were both alive and well. ‘He assures the visit has gone well but that they need to fetch proof for the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> and any other doubting Lords.’ She took a deep breath and looked towards the many eyes set on her. ‘He’s set off for the wall. He wants to lead a small band of men North to fetch a </span>
  <span>wight</span>
  <span>.’ She shook her head and set the parchment down hard. ‘This is insanity. He says we have no time then he does this.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime had picked up the letter and was reading it through. ‘Your Grace, we need the men and the dragons.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head again. ‘We still have the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> and we’ve built trebuchets to launch flames from.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It says here they’ve found a deposit of </span>
  <span>dragonglass</span>
  <span> beneath the keep there.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tormund raised his head to that. ‘We need that. You have to let him win this Dragon bitch over. He’s Jon, you know he’ll be fine.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I don’t!’ It came out louder than she expected. ‘I don’t know that he’ll be fine and if he’s not? We won’t get the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen’s</span>
  <span> support out of pity, you can guarantee that. We’ll have to do without.’ Jaime tried to shoot her a comforting look but she turned away, looking to her ever faithful sworn-shield for support. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re right, Sansa. It’s a risk but we must take it. Up against the dead, we need every last man.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone is against me. No one can see the things I can see. The </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dornish</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> are still on our side, they make up the numbers the Unsullied would fill. I </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> still march with the Dragon to King’s Landing but I can’t risk my brother for her favour. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If Daenerys Targaryen wants to see proof of the dead, she can take one of dragons and see them for herself but I will not condone risking any more lives for a chance of support. That is my decision.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some dialogue taken from 7x04</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Winter Bride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her father’s seat wasn’t as large as she remembered. Whenever he’d sat there, for meals or holding court, she’d be nearby somewhere and sometimes found herself looking up to him as his eyes swept across the hall. Ned Stark was a large man, not large like Robert Baratheon had become or like the Clegane brothers, but he was well-built and never lost the strength gained through combat in his youth. He was large in her eye in a different way. No one else could siy in that seat and command the Northerners like him. No one held their attention and moved them so easily. A short cough from him or a single word and they’d fall into silence broken only when he’d stopped speaking. She never saw herself much in her father but something inside her always longed to be that important to people. Now that the time had come, the power fell uneasily upon her shoulders. </p><p>She’d sat in that seat before, at mealtimes and when the Northern Lords paid their respects to her and named her Queen. She’d been holding off holding court, however, always finding something different to excuse herself from her duties. The queries were mounting up and she was growing tired of the constant meetings with strangers in her solar. It made more sense to hold them in public, in the Great Hall, but she couldn’t help but fret the night before while she tried to sleep.  </p><p>Still tired, she sat in the high chair on the dais, looking out over the faces of her subjects, wrapped in their warmest winter clothing. Like at the court at King’s Landing, a table had been set up near her where her closest advisors were seating, looking to her to start. <em> I can’t have them standing for however long this charade will last.  </em> </p><p>In truth she wasn’t staging it solely for the sake of the Northerners. While she was interested in their problems and eager to offer solutions, another reason had come to her several weeks ago in conversation with her siblings and then in a different conversation with Jaime Lannister. She spent much of her time concerned with when Jon and Margaery would be returning and how they’d face the dead with the support of Daenerys Targaryen, forgetting the jobs that needed done around the castle.  </p><p>‘Thank you, everybody, for coming today.’ She rose from her chair to address them. Joffrey had always slumped back in his throne, leaning on an arm propped up on the arm of the chair. She needed to separate herself from him at every possible junction. ‘I am sure many of you wish to speak but before we do so, there are some announcements I thought to best to make. As you are aware, I have been crowned Queen in the North and this is not a duty I take lightly. In just the few weeks I have accepted this crown, it has become clear that no one could hold this position alone. Like is the tradition in King’s Landing, I will be adopting a formal council who will each assume responsibility for the North kingdom.’ There was light chatter in the hall as she stopped. To her surprise, and joy, from the moment she began they remained silent.  </p><p>‘Firstly, I have chosen for my Hand the Lady Margaery Tyrell. Lady Margaery is currently representing me at Dragonstone with my brother but she had already accepted this role. For her skill and experience as a true Ironborn, until her home his open to her again, Asha Greyjoy will be my Commander of the Fleet. Her brother Theon will also be remaining here and will be acting as the Steward of Winterfell. He’s currently been preparing out defences for the fight ahead. My brother Jon and Ser Jaime Lannister have had great experience as leaders of men and share a greater number of victories than I dare count. For the war ahead, I have named them my Generals with Lord Jon leading the Northern men and Ser Jaime the Southern. There are others roles that are currently unfilled but my brother Bran has agreed to function as a Master of Coin and Whispers for the moment. In these times, others will sit upon my council including Uma Reed, Lyanna Mormont, Tormund Giantsbane, Wyman Manderly and others but after the war they have their own lands to organise and I cannot claim them forever.’  </p><p>She took a breath to look around the hall. No one seemed horrified by her choices, she hoped they made the most sense even if those who gave her counsel weren’t all Northern. Briefly, she caught the eye of Lord Baelish. His thin mouth was curled into its usual smirk but his eyes were cold and unreadable. He’d tried to speak with her several more times after she rejected his vile advances but each time she’d shrugged him off, excusing herself to do anything else she could think of. <em> He won’t be smiling soon. If only he knew.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> There is one more role that I can fill now, however. The  Kingsguard  in King’s Landing is  an  honourable brotherhood of men swearing their lives to their King. During my time in the South, it became clear that this was far from the truth. The brothers of the  Kingsguard  where easily corrupted, brutish and without morals.’ She turned to Jaime but he shrugged in acceptance.  <em> No commander could’ve made those men tolerable. ‘ </em>The Queensgaurd will be a different order. A place in its ranks will be one of esteem and honour, offered only to those of the highest moral and physical value. Unlike in the South, this order will not be one for life, no King or Queen wants aged knights out of breath trying to lift their swords. Protecting their Queen should be a noble pursuit and, when it isn’t anymore, they should be free to leave. It’s members, with permission from their commander and myself will also be allowed to marry. In protecting their Queen they are protecting their kingdom and in doing so they are protecting their family. That said, I have chosen my first Commander of the currently memberless Queensguard. Lady Brienne?’ </p><p>‘Your Grace?’ She replied uncertainly, rising slightly from her seat but not committing to standing.  </p><p>‘Kneel in front of me.’ Brienne slowly made her way to the front of the dais where she fell gently to her knees, her back to the court.  </p><p>‘Lady Brienne swore an oath to my mother to see me safely to Winterfell and she had never given up, even when it seemed certain I would never leave the South. Even now, with the oath fufilled, she has remained here as my sworn-shield and had given me nothing but her undying loyalty. I cannot fault her so I could see no reason not to have her by my side as commander of the Queenguard. There is of course one issue that remains-’  </p><p>The doors at the back of the hall swung open and the eerie silence than had fallen was broken quickly by gasps and the sound of people falling quickly back as loud footsteps echoed across the chamber. Sansa stepped back in front of the crown, as Jaime and Brienne turned to face outwards, peering into the crowds.  </p><p>When a group of Knights of the Vale eventually parted to let them through, Obara and Nymeria Sand stormed towards the throne, accompanied by a small group of Dornish men, weapons drawn. Both the sandsnakes bore the same venomous look: eyes wide and full of fury, mouths baring their teeth.  </p><p>‘Murderous bitch!’ Obara spat as they reached the dais, slamming several pieces of parchment down at Sansa’s feet. ‘You will answer for your crimes against house Dorne.’ Frantic mutters surrounded them.  </p><p>‘What do you mean?’ She held out both hands as she dropped slowly to pick up the papers. ‘Has Ellaria Sand said something to you?’ She kept herself cool, focusing on taking deep, measured breaths.  </p><p>‘No. We didn’t need Ellaria to tell us of your crimes. They are everywhere.’ Nymeria took a step forward and found herself confronted with the two twin blades of Brienne and Jaime. She had only then noticed the similarity between the two swords, both rippling with red steel. Nymeria didn’t seem to care. ‘You can threaten us all you like. You murdered our sister Tyene. Don’t deny it.’ </p><p><em> For fuck’s sake Arya.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Your traitorous sister left here but she went in peace. I haven’t left Winterfell and I can assure I would not be foolish enough to send men after her with 600 men at her back.’ </p><p>‘You didn’t need to send men, just one. Your fucking wild sister.’ Obara pointed a long finger in Arya’s direction who was seated near Lyanna Mormont. <em> Tell me, sister, if you remained in disguise, how do they know it was you?  </em>The fear that had been quelled began bubbling up within her, stinging like acid in her throat.  </p><p>‘My sister? Look at her. How would a child stand a chance against an experienced fighter like Tyene. Not to mention those surrounding her.’ She tried to bluff but she could hear the manic tone in her own voice. She was forever cursed with being a terrible liar and now it had finally come down upon her.  </p><p>The two sisters stepped aside to let another forward. A Dornish mounted soldier approached, Sansa guessed by his markings, a fresh scar red and hot down his cheek.  </p><p>‘I was there when she did it. We were riding fine then one of the officers ripped their whole <em> face  </em>off, or so we thought. Next thing I know, young mousey girl draws her blade across Tyene’s throat. Skinny thing, the girl and the blade. I didn’t know who it was, I’ve never met the girl but I can hear her shouting now. ‘Tell Ellaria Sand that Arya Stark sends her regards.’’ He thrusted his gauntlet forward, also towards Arya. ‘She’s one of those faceless men. On my journey here I found the real officer dead in a ditch, his face cut off. Assassins from Bravos. Your good Queen had an assassin set on Tyene Sand and stands before you talking of peace.’  </p><p><em> For fuck’s sake Arya.  </em> </p><p>The man fell back and the sand snakes pushed forward.  </p><p>‘Read the letter.’ Obara commanded. ‘It’s from Princess Arianne Martell. It was sent to all our officers and most of the men would’ve read it by now.’ Sansa skimmed over the letter. <em> Bran told me Arianne Martell was dead. Why would Ellaria Sand spare her but kill her father?  </em>She knew she whould punish the two sisters just for giving her orders but with the accusations they’d already launched at her in front of everybody that matter, she thought it unwise. </p><p><em> ‘ </em>It must be a forgery. I got on well with the Princess in Dorne. And I never made such promises to her.’ The letter burnt with hatred; Sansa could almost feel the heat on her fingertips. Sansa had never seen such foul words and claims in such a fair hand.  </p><p>‘It is no forgery, we grew up with Arianne, we know her hand.’ Several of the Dornish men behind nodded in agreement. Obara raised her voice and turned to address the whole hall. ‘It says the honourable Queen Sansa has betrayed Dorne. Not only did she have her sister murder ours, she made many promises to the late Prince Doran that she has never attempted to actually complete. She promised our father as he died that she would bring justice but so far, she has hidden in her castle and brought more suffering. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the Dornish getting her North then winning the battle for her but where are our honours? We no longer sit upon her council, the land she promised the Prince has been forgotten. As has the wealth she supposedly held here that could be sent to the South to pay for our services. Your honourable Queen has used us and wants to kick us aside now we no longer have worth. The Dornish will not stand this treatment.’  </p><p><em> Ellaria Sand: cleverer than I expected. Never one to miss an opportunity to push me to the ground and rub my face in the dirt. I liked the woman when we travelled with her but it seems such sweet flowers must have poisonous serpents beneath.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Can you not see the lies?’ Sansa pressed the paper into a nearby table and beseeched the rest of the hall. ‘No such promises were made. Your father convinced Prince Doran to give me the men for the sake of justice and honour and what is right. Not to make a profit. I wouldn’t offer money of jewels because I know we do not have them. You both know why we haven’t marched South yet but you seem to have forgotten now that it fits your version of events. Your sister betrayed me and you expect me to feel sorry that she was killed for it? I feel for your loss but in war the death of an enemy is expected. Arya did the North a grand service. She brought us justice.’ Sansa didn’t quite believe her last words. Tyene deserved to be brought back and face justice properly but she couldn’t fault Arya for her actions, especially if the mutiny was already brewing in the camps.  </p><p>She continued. ‘How dare you come here and launch these accusations against me like threats. I am a Queen and you are one of many bastards littered across the dunes of Dorne. We are at war and I need the men but I will not stand treachery and betrayal within my ranks. Take your insolent forces and leave the North as quick as you can muster them. You are no longer welcome here and if you choose to face us in the South? So be it.’  </p><p>Jaime mumbled in her ear, ‘should we ready the men? You cannot seriously let them leave.’ </p><p>‘I can and I will.’ She shot back, more harshly than she intended. She directed her words back at the Sandsnakes who were still shooting daggers at her in their dark stares. ‘You will not face any resistance if you leave quickly and quietly. Make a fuss and I cannot promise you the same. I should have you put to the sword for this but I consider myself wise enough to see that it would be a waste of good Northern men. Just know, I am not letting you live out of mercy but out of necessity. Now get the fuck out of my Kingdom before I bring all seven hells down upon you.’ She was out of breath by the time she’d finished and hot beneath her layers of gown and cloak. The two sandsnakes looked between themselves and shared a meaningful look. At once, they turned in their sandals and stalked out of the room, their entourage following closely behind.  </p><p>When the doors swung shut behind them, Sansa fell back into the throne, shrugging off her cloak and looking out across those assembled. She wanted to collapse into her bed and never emerge again but their expectant eyes forced her to sit up and continue on.  </p><p>‘Maester?’ She called out to Thomos who stood nearby. He hurried up the steps towards and, as she prompted, leant in close. ‘Have you sent the letter to the wall yet? The one to my brother?’ </p><p>‘Not yet, my Queen.’ He stammered out. ‘I was about to but I think you have the seal. I was just coming to fetch it when I realised the time and came here.’ </p><p>She nodded, letting out a small breath. ‘Good. Burn it and never tell a soul you wrote it.’ The maester grinned and scuttled away.  </p><p>She turned to her side where Brienne and Jaime were still standing. In the crowd she knew Littlefinger would still be watching her, the foul look still plastered on his face. <em> How I yearn to wipe it off.  </em>Still, a thousand new things to do had just revealed themselves and she felt she couldn’t truly enjoy what she had planned.  </p><p>‘Thank you for your patience.’ She addressed the hall again. ‘It seems I have new arrangements to make.’ She smiled at that and a few laughs slipped out from the crowd. ‘I shall save the announcements for another time but I shall still hear anyone who has come to court seeking an audience.’ Chatter rose again as several hands flew into the air. <em> I won’t be finished until long into the afternoon. Doubt I’ll be done with everything else until the early morning either.  </em> </p><p>She turned to a servant stood along the wall. ‘Some wine, if you will.’ <em> This day has already been long enough and it’s not even midday.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>The sun had almost completely dipped below the horizon before Sansa was freed from her duties, casting an amber light across the courtyard as she passed through. The fading light reflected brilliantly on the frosted stone but she had no time to stand and enjoy the view. She took her meal alone, eating quickly but taking the chance to enjoy the few moments of solitary comfort. Her council would be meeting again before the hour was up and Sansa hadn’t eaten a thing that day.  </p><p>Surprisingly, the loss of the Dornish forces had not affected her as she expected. There was no feeling of crushing defeat, her fury had largely melted away and her fear for what was coming had already reached its peak. Everything relied on Jon now. If he could convince the Dragonqueen the threat was real, she could consider three dragons and an army of Unsullied to be among their numbers. If not, she might as well retire to the damp of the crypts now. As she ate, she tried her best to cast thoughts of the future ahead, knowing full well they’d been in deep discussion long into the night. She found little solace in the thoughts of the cases brought forward in court. Most were simple and required a few words to suffice a solution. Only once she’d been uncertain but, with a word from Jaime, she found a solution to that as well.  </p><p>Instead her mind drifted elsewhere, somewhere she could find a small comfort in the endless barrage of problems she was faced with. She found herself at Kingslanding, walking the grounds and beside her, her husband Tyrion Lannister, a spring in his step. <em> That was another time. I hardly recognise myself. I was afraid almost every waking moment and my sleep was no better. Yet he made me smile on that day, despite it all.  </em>She couldn’t remember exactly what he had said but she was sure it was something terribly crude but equally funny. </p><p>Then she felt herself falling further back, as she spooned her broth into her mouth, back to her wedding night. Tyrion had sat beside her all night, draining each cup with increasing enthusiasm, his voice growing throughout the celebration and his temper flaring at anything Joffrey said. Stuck between the drunken Dwarf she’d been forced to marry and the King who promised to rape her if his uncle was unable, Sansa had never felt more alone. Not one person offered her much respite; they all continued on as if this was perfectly normal. Then they’d finally escaped to his chambers, refusing the bedding ceremony, and Sansa found herself trembling as she fumbled with the ties on her dress. Like taking off a mask, Tyrion had changed before her eyes. His drunken stupor faded, replaced by the melancholy and sincerity of a sober man. He didn’t want to hurt her, or even touch her if she didn’t want him to so he’d put on the act to convince their guests he would be doing his duty that night. He’d given her the bed, sleeping instead on a cushioned chair, although she invited him to share it with him after his complaints of his sore back. She still couldn’t trust her Lannister husband, no matter how faithful and kind he’d so far been but she was pleased that all her dread and vile expectations came to nothing.  </p><p><em> This is no different. Everything seems impossibly futile now but, when  </em> <em> this passes </em> <em> , I will look back and think what a stupid girl I was for being so afraid. If he was here now, Tyrion would tell me the same. He’d put me at ease like before and tell me a joke to make me smile.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Your Grace, they’re waiting for you downstairs.’ Podrick Payne stood at her door. His Lannister robes had long been discarded and she’d dressed him in the greys of the Starks. It suited him well. With them settled at Winterfell, Brienne wasn’t often in full armour or needing her horse so Pod’s role as squire became superfluous. Not liking the idea of her husband’s faithful follower feeling useless, she made him her personal steward, delivering messages and arranging meeting. She was grateful to find Theon and Pod becoming fast friends, keeping the castle running and her life organised while she laboured with her council for hours on end.  </p><p>She forced herself up and patted her dress down. She’d chosen to hold this meeting in her solar, and had a fire warming the room since she’d got back. She knew these discussions would take time but her council chambers were always frigid, no matter how big of a fire was made. Her own rooms benefitted highly from the warm waters that flowed through the walls and she thought her councillors deserved the comforts after such an ordeal at court.  </p><p>When she entered, they turned, spread across the room, to face her. ‘Shall we begin?’ </p><p> </p><p><em> Gods, I hate weddings.  </em> Cersei Lannister hadn’t attended once since Joffrey wedded the Tyrell Rose, always happening upon excuses whenever she was invited. She thought, during the winter, she’d be relieved of sitting through the tedious ceremonies yet here she stood, before the sept, her arms entwined in her daughters. With the Sept of  Baelor  destroyed, the ceremony had to be held in a much smaller sept on the outskirts of the city. Her new High-Septon had chosen the location himself, promising a close connection to the Gods.  <em> I don’t give a shit how close we get to the Gods. They could attend the ceremony themselves and I wouldn’t care. All I want is for this pomp to be over to keep  </em> <em> Myrcella </em> <em>  content.  </em> </p><p>Before they went for the door, Cersei pulled away to face Myrcella. ‘Are you certain this is what you want, my love. You don’t to need marry immediately, nor to a Martell if you don’t want to.’ One of her arms reached for her daughter’s shoulder but she shrugged her off and faced forward.  </p><p>‘I have never been more certain of anything in my life.’ Myrcella voice was cold and spoke a clear message – I am only speaking with you because there is no one else to walk me down the aisle. <em> She should be grateful for all the I’ve done for her. The only reason there’s no one else left here for her is because of me. If they were still here, she wouldn’t be Queen at all.  </em> </p><p>She took the time before they were permitted to enter to take a glance over her daughter. They’d draped her slim frame in fine white silks that clung to her figure before flaring outwards at her hips, leaving a long train behind her. The dress was embroidered with red and gold, starting at her hem and twisting up her skirt. Something about the gown reminded her of the white thing Margaery Tyrell had donned for her wedding, trying to convince the world she still had the right to wear the white of the maiden. No one would doubt Myrcella’s virginity though. She was close to her betrothed but they maintained a respectful distance and at least still played the part of childish lovers. Cersei couldn’t be certain that the Dornish prince didn’t sneak into the Queen’s quarters when the moon was high but none of her informants seemed to think she’d ever been disturbed.  </p><p>Upon her head, she had fixed her silver crown amongst her long blonde waves that fell lightly about her shoulders. Cersei had wished for an iron crown instead of silver but the young Queen was entranced by it and the decision was made. Not that Cersei hadn’t instructed the smith to make both anyway. The Iron crown sat neatly beneath her bed, waiting.  </p><p>Maggy the Frog still whispered her prophecies in Cersei’s ear: ‘<em> There will come  </em> <em> another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.’ </em> </p><p><em> Could  </em> <em> Mrycella </em> <em>  have been my usurper all along?  </em> That didn’t quite make sense. The witch of  Casterly  Rock had also seen Cersei’s children in her visions of the morrow, all dead before her. She had yet to be wrong so far. Cersei chose not to think of the following lines of the prophecy she had tried her best to ignore. They spoke of the means of her death by the hands of a valonqar who would choke the life from her. Now she wore high-necked dresses with plates stitched around her throat.  <em> No woman can know the future but if  </em> <em> Myrcella </em> <em>  is doomed to die, I will take her place and throw that pretty crown into the Blackwater. Silver has no place on the Iron Throne.  </em> </p><p>The doors before them swung forward and Cersei rejoined their arms.  </p><p>‘Your Grace, your highness.’ The figure before them bowed his head as they passed, music swelling and building to a triumphant high as Myrcella reached the alter where her betrothed stood. <em> At least Tyrion chose her a fine match.  </em>As Cersei took her place among the other guests, she looked over the Dornish prince, his blonde hair carefully managed on his head by the gold crown the Queen had gifted him. He’d chosen a doublet and breeches of red and gold, Dornish suns sitting upon each of his shoulders. He was fair of face, but not overly so as Ser Loras had been, and something about him reminded her of her twin when they were both youths. Handsome but still rugged, Jaime charmed all the girls of the Rock but it never troubled her; she knew who he came back each night.  </p><p>The words were said but Cersei wasn’t listening. She was intrigued by the young couple, by their coy smiles and small giggles. Their joy was sickeningly sweet and had no place in King’s Landing as far as she was concerned. <em> T </em> <em> hey’ll learn the truth of it soon. Their passion will fade and time will not be kind to either of them. He’ll probably tire of her and find comfort in other women’s beds while sweet  </em> <em> Myrcella </em> <em>  would become jaded and lose her infallible optimism.  </em> <em> Th </em> <em> at is if either live long enough to see themselves plunge into that pit I called my home for many a year. If old Maggy was correct, they will have a short-lived but wonderful marriage. If not, it will drag on too long and they will both suffer for it.  </em> </p><p>When the ceremony was completed and Myrcella and Trystane turned to face their subjects, roars of their names filled the hall. Cersei clapped along politely and moved forward to join her daughter and new good-son as they pressed onwards to the feast and celebrations awaiting them at the keep. The royal couple, however, entwined their fingers and fell into the crowds before she got the chance to meet them, leaving Cersei towards the back of the rabble. Demoted to the end of the eager crowds desperate to get out of the sept, Cersei moved along silently. <em> I may not be the Queen but I am still her mother yet they looked past me like they’ve never seen me before, like they weren’t on their knees before me less than a year ago. At least being ignored is better than being pelted in the street.  </em>She couldn’t cast out the memory of her walk of atonement; she couldn’t walk the streets anymore without feeling the need to cover herself or duck.  </p><p>‘Beautiful ceremony, you should be proud of producing such a divine being.’ Someone, dressed in deep amber linens had fallen in beside her. She didn’t need to worry about them being noticed together, no one was paying them much attention.  </p><p>‘Thank you.’ She replied curtly. She knew the woman to be Ellaria Sand by her thick Dornish accent- warm like treacle on the ear. ‘I didn’t know you’d be making an appearance.’ </p><p>‘And miss a royal wedding? How could I resist?’ Cersei kept her eyes forward but she could tell the snake sported a wicked grin. As soon as she’d received Ellaria’s letter, she’d eagerly picked up her quill to pen her reply. The opportunity was too good to miss.  </p><p>‘And our arrangement still stands?’ She asked lowly.  </p><p>‘I have made progress. The Dornish have left the North and will be here before long.’ There was a hint of vicious pride in her voice. ‘What of the Mountain?’ </p><p>‘He remains in our dudgeons. You may see him if you like. His head will be yours to take when you deliver Sansa Stark’s.’ Cersei knew that Ellaria thought she was getting the sweeter deal. The Mountain’s death was revenge for the murder of Elia Martell and the death of Sansa was revenge for the death of her beloved. Cersei herself had grown tired of Gregor Clegane. While his size and skill proved him a worthy defender, his desires and lusts led him on journeys of destruction and cruelty that even she found distasteful. Cleaning up his messes was beginning to take up much of her time so disposing of him in return for the wolf-bitch? Cersei couldn’t see a single drawback in their arrangement for either of them. With Sansa Stark gone, the rest of the North would fall back in her lap and its Lords would scuttle back to their ice-hovels. That would only leave her with Daenerys Targaryen and the scorpions in the cellars beneath the keep were making promising progress.  </p><p><em> If only Jaime were here to join me in my celebrations. Such occasions would normally warrant a few stolen carafes of wine and night with him somewhere especially sordid.  </em> Her once beloved twin had long abandoned her and any word of him or his foul  sellsword  companion never reached them.  <em> Perhaps that is for the best. He’d lecture me in caution and mercy. He’d tell me what I did to the Great Sept was wrong. He’d say a lot but nothing of any use. My use for him has long passed. If he’s with the wolf or the dragon, let the war take him off my hands. The brother I knew died when Robb Stark took him prisoner. I have no brothers. There will be no valonqar.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>‘I stand by what I said.’ Sansa stood before her councillors, spread across her solar. She was glad to see everyone had made it, even Gendry Waters who took a place leant on Arya’s chair, his back facing away from the Red Woman. ‘Going North of the wall to fetch one wight for one woman, whatever her name is, is too great a risk. I believe Jon could do it but I don’t like to take unnecessary chances. The Dragonqueen will see the truth when the army of the dead breaches the wall. Until then, we must make good with her.’ She inhaled deeply and paced the room. ‘When I received the invitation South, I didn’t want to leave my kingdom so quickly but I was also not ready to meet with Daenerys Targaryen. Now we can assume that Daenerys in the North so I have to put aside my pride and treat with her. I’ll have to leave tomorrow morning to meet the ship, I’ll send a letter ahead.’  </p><p>When she stopped speaking, she was met with only silence. In that time, she tried to assess their opinions. She’d only really planned to travel to wall in the time between Pod summoning her to her entering the solar. In that short trip down stairs, she had only seen one possible move that would avoid her brother facing wintery hell for the sake of Daenerys Targaryen. She couldn’t place where the confidence had sprung from; she still feared the woman who had named herself Queen long before Sansa and had three dragons beside her. She knew it had to be done and strangely, she wasn’t afraid. <em> Perhaps it was thinking of Tyrion. He’d tell me to pull myself together and face her.  </em> </p><p>‘I’ll come with ya!’ Fiery-haired Tormund Giantsbane sprang up from his chair and lumbered towards her. ‘If your little crow needs some sense knockin’ into him I’ll gladly do it.’  </p><p>Sansa clasped his hands and pressed them tightly, nearly losing her own fingers in his iron grip in the process. He had a madness in his eyes but Sansa saw it more as excitement- <em> the free folk are called ‘free’ for a reason and this one’s been holed up in a castle too long.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Aye, me too.’ Gendry was the second to rise, standing to his impressive height and taking his place at her side. Sansa noticed Arya staring intently and tried her best to disguise a giggle.  </p><p>‘Hopefully we won’t have use for your warhammer but it will be well-appreciated if we do.’ She nodded to him and he returned the favour. His face hardened briefly as his eyes fell upon Melisandre of Asshai. As always, the priestess was silent, but her dark eyes seemed to say something to him. Gently, Sansa brought a hand forward and laid it on is forearm as she felt him bristle. Under his skin, she could feel his firm muscles, earned from a lifetime in the forge. Even now he was only in his leather apron and breeches, his bare arms layered in grime and oil. The Baratheon bastard spent little time out of the forge but she had no clue what he was making.  </p><p>‘I’ll come too, if this isn’t a cock party that is.’ The final member of their group was Uma Reed. Uma looked around as if expecting protest but none came. ‘Meera’s safe now so I feel I should be put to good use. My spear is yours, my Queen.’  </p><p>There was something comical in the image of Uma Reed, frog-spear and net in hand, standing before the Night’s Watch. Once again, she was forced to hide her mirth. That was her least favourite part of being Queen. <em> A Queen cannot laugh or seem to enjoy herself or she will be branded a stupid child. A king can laugh and bawl and shout and no one will bat an eye.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Arya, Bran, I trust you can keep the castle from burning down?’ She raised an eyebrow and dared a smirk. Arya only rolled her eyes in return but Bran, sat before the fire as always, nodded slowly. ‘In case of attack, Lady Brienne is in charge.’  <em> Not quite Ser Brienne yet but we were so close </em> . Sansa wanted desperately for her long-suffering companion to receive her deserved honour at that very moment but she held back. The knighting of the first female knight wasn’t something to be done in private.  <em> I need to send a message to the North that this is the way now, we can’t do that from my solar.  </em> </p><p><em> It’s not as late as I thought it was.  </em>Sansa couldn’t see anything else that needed discussion at that time. She’d expected more aversion to her riding North and treating with the Dragonqueen but she got the sense that it was agreed as the best possible path to take. She gave them all their leave to go, arranging to meet with Uma, Gendry and Tormund early the next morning. There was something still niggling at her mind, tugging at the hem of her dress and pulling on her hair.  </p><p>‘Arya, a word?’ Arya had almost slipped out of the room but hadn’t quite made it out when she was forced to spin round and offer her sister an innocent smile. ‘Walk with me.’  </p><p>Wordlessly, Arya let Sansa take her arm and lead her outside, to the mercy of the bitter winds. Neither sister flinched, they knew the game they were playing. They stayed silent as Sansa marched her back into the castle and only when they reached their destination, Arya’s room, did Sansa release her sister and all else that built up inside.  </p><p>‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ She began as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. Arya was unfazed by the outburst, pushing herself onto the edge of the bed. ‘You killed Tyene Sand. If just stayed out of others’ business-’ </p><p>‘They would’ve betrayed you nonetheless. The sandsnakes pissed off because they were called back by their dead princess. Tyene’s death was just an inconvenience.’  </p><p>‘An inconvenience? She spluttered, feeling her cheeks burning run. <em> This is the rage Jaime told me to control. ‘ </em>I don’t know what you did in Bravos or what you became but here murder is not just an inconvenience, it’s still murder.’ </p><p>‘Faceless man.  That’s what I became.’ Arya said it so simply, keeping her nerves and holding her tone.  </p><p>‘So, what they said is true? You’ve become some assassin who <em> cuts people’s faces off </em>?’ She spoke the last few words quietly, fearing what anyone else would think of them if they heard. Arya reached down under her bed and heaved at a full looking bag- the same one she’d worn on her back the day she arrived. ‘Arya you told me they were just a disguise.’  </p><p>‘It’s a mask isn’t it? Isn’t a mask just a disguise?’ She loosened the strings and delved her hand inside, rummaging around its contents. At last, with a quick check, she’d found what she was looking for. ‘What do ya think?’  </p><p>She held out a piece of pale flesh, so thin that it wobbled in the air like a piece of leather. At first, Sansa, remembering her last experience, shielded her eyes and begged Arya to put it away but her sister relented and eventually she dropped her hands and dared to look. Initially, she wasn’t sure what she was looked at. From her distance she could make out the basic features of the face, eyes, a long nose and thin lips but Sansa wasn’t sure what Arya wanted her to see. She took a step forward. <em> I swear I  </em> <em> recognise </em> <em>  it.  </em> She could now clearly see the curve of the large nose, the deep-set wrinkles on the forehead and the sneering mouth. There was only one word she could use to describe the face but the thought of what that meant threatened to bring her dinner up.  <em> It’s weasely.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Walder Frey?’  <em> I didn’t even know the old Lord of the Crossing was dead, how did that slip Arya’s story?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Yup. Opened up his neck. I’ve got quite a few of his ugly lot in here too. Poisoned their food.’ She pulled out a few more faces and now Sansa was really looking, a few of them looked familiar too.  </p><p>‘Is that what you are now? An assassin?’ She ventured.  </p><p>‘No. I left the faceless men. They wanted me to be no one but I have always been Arya Stark and I will always be. I thought I could lose myself but I kept coming back.’ She replaced the faces in her bag and stood before Sansa. Even having seen her holding the skins of her enemies without flinching, Sansa knew her sister was right: she was still Arya Stark.  </p><p>Sansa closed her eyes and fed on the silence for a moment. She supposed there were less useful talents Arya could’ve picked up in her time on the move. She would be a little more disappointed if the bag was filled with pottery. At the thought of her sister suddenly taking up a delicate, time-consuming hobby, Sansa couldn’t stop the laughter escape her lips. Arya soon joined in. <em> This is all too absurd and yet I’m not in the least surprised. This is where Arya was meant to be and that was how she had to get here.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You’re still not forgiven for Tyene though.’ Sansa reminded her when their mirth had quietened. ‘I think I know how you can repay me.’  She reached to her waist and unsheathed her dagger, holding the hilt out towards Arya who eyed it suspiciously. ‘I was going to do it myself, like father would’ve wanted but having a personal assassin must have its benefits. It was a shame we couldn’t do it in front of a crowd but if we gather the right people it’ll be enough.’ In realisation, Arya’s confusion morphed into excitement and she took the knife, flexing her fingers around its grip.  </p><p> </p><p>An hour later the hall was prepared, refilled with those that Sansa needed to witness this and the servants of Winterfell to fill the space. At the front, Bronze Yohn Royce stood with several of his Knights of the Vale with him. The others assembled included the notable Lords and Ladies of the North and, behind her, Bran.  </p><p>‘Thank you for coming on such short notice. I am sorry we were interrupted this morning but now we can discuss the important matters I was saving till the end. Lady Brienne is currently busy,’ <em> a lie, ‘ </em>so we will continue with her honours when I have returned. I will be travelling to Eastwatch-by-the-sea on the morrow to meet with Daenerys Targaryen. There is one matter, however, that couldn’t wait. Guards!’  </p><p>At her signal the great doors open and two guards escorted the diminished figure of her sister inside. She didn’t struggle but smiled all the way down until she was left before the dais, her back to the hall. <em> We could’ve skipped the show but perhaps this is what people need more than ever.  </em> </p><p>Arya shifted from foot to foot. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Sansa could sense the serious question in her tone.  </p><p>‘I can think of nothing else that I want more at this precise moment.’ She kept her voice steady and looked down hard upon her sister. She really needed to him to believe her.  </p><p>‘What is it that you want, what do you think you’ll gain?’ Her sister spat out. Unseen to the rest of the room, she was smiling.  </p><p>‘I want to defend my family, and the North from those that would betray us. Today has shown me how easily people can change, or at least how easily they can show their true faces.’ From the corner of her eye she caught Littlefinger smirk. <em> Got him. </em>  </p><p>Arya shrugged. ‘All right. Get on with it.’  </p><p>‘You stand accused on murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges – Lord Baelish?’ Sansa and Arya turned their heads towards the small man as one. The rest of the room were looking in his direction. There were several mutterings and gasps. Littlefinger himself stared back, his mouth still curled into a sneer but his eyes slightly narrowed as if trying to understand the joke. <em> There is no punchline, Lord Baelish, not today.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Your Grace, forgive me I am a bit confused.’ He took a slight step towards her but two guards that had moved nearby followed closely behind. </p><p>‘Which charges confuse you? You murdered out aunt. Do you deny it?’  </p><p>‘I-’ </p><p>‘You also conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You had my Aunt Lysa send a letter to my mother telling her it was the Lannisters but it was you.’  </p><p>‘I know of no such letter.’ He was still keeping calm but she heard a slight crack in his voice. He knew she had him cornered.  </p><p>‘You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray our father.’ Her voice was rising, once again she felt the flush return to her cheeks. All of this she had learnt from Bran. Even if was strange and she didn’t understand it, her brother’s new wisdom proved very revealing.  </p><p>‘I deny it! None of you were there. How can you know the truth?’ He blurted out. Sansa only smiled.  </p><p>‘You held a knife against his throat.’ Bran spoke softly but he commanded the attention of the room. ‘You said ‘I did warn you not to trust me’.’ </p><p>‘You framed Tyrion Lannister for an attempted assassination on me.’ Bran reached into his cloak and pulled a fine dagger out. Sansa reached towards it and held it up while her brother continued. ‘Do you recognise this?’ </p><p>‘Our mother thought the dwarf had hired the cat’s paw because you told her that knife was his. That why she took him prisoner, that’s why my father was attacked in the street and that’s where all the war and death started. Deny it!’ Sansa pulled in close to him.  </p><p>‘Lady Sansa, I have always protected you. Let us speak alone and I will explain everything.’ He had abandoned any shred of dignity now. His voice trembled and he reached out towards her, trying to grab at her cloak.  </p><p>‘You have not protected me, you lusted over me when my mother rejected you.’ She held the knife out towards Arya who gladly took it. She was planning on using her own one but she couldn’t deny the irony of Lord Baelish falling victim to his own blade.  </p><p>‘Sansa, please.’ He was on his knees now, still grabbing at her. In response, she delivered a swift kick to his gut. He doubled over in pain and Arya took her place, knife raised.  </p><p>‘Lord Royce.’ Sansa took her place back at the centre of the room. The Knights of the Vale had been watching the scene unfold in silence. ‘Lord Baelish is the Lord Protector of the Vale, shouldn’t you escort him back to safet? ' </p><p>Lord Royce turned to her, speaking in low, gruff voice. ‘He killed our lady. I think not.’  </p><p>‘I beg you, Sansa. I loved your mother. I loved you.’ His sharp voice cut through the room. She turned back to him, still blubbering on his knees. It sickened her to think of the vile man lusting over her.  </p><p>‘I am a Queen, my Lord, not some foolish child. You cannot sway me with sweet words and empty confessions. I know what you are and it is not a creature capable of such feelings as love or honour or respect. The only person you can ever feel that way for is yourself. You thought it made you strong but it made you weak. Us Northerners know the value of living in a pack.’ Sansa looked to her sister who was practically humming with ecstasy, and nodded. ‘Lord Baelish of The Fingers. I, Sansa of House Stark, first of her name, Queen in the North, sentence you to death. My father would usually advise that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword but, in your particular case, I’m sure Eddard Stark wouldn’t mind me letting my sister have this one. I hope you see them all before you die. I hope they make you suffer.’  </p><p>As she finished, Arya moved quickly, drawing the embellished dagger almost artistically across his neck. In one swift movement she sheathed it again and stood back to join the rest of her family as they watched on. Littlefinger grabbed at his neck as the blood poured ceaselessly from the slit. He groped and gurgled but his hands were overflowing with red and he soon fell to the floor. For a little while longer he writhed and choked but soon he stopped struggling and fell silent.  </p><p>A wash of relief poured over Sansa. <em> Now I can leave Winterfell without worry. Now I can face the  </em> <em> Dragonqueen </em> <em>  with the strength of a true  </em> <em> Direwolf </em> <em>  that doesn’t let a small Mockingbird play its game with her pack.  </em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dialogue taken from 7x06</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eastwatch-by-the-sea was bitterly cold. The combination of the Northern gales and sea winds smothered most of the Night’s Watch fortress in ice and snow. Like Castle Black, the building was decrepit, practically a ruin and if she didn’t know better, she would assume it was abandoned. The courtyard was completely empty. No fires could be seen. The hall where she’d eaten with the brothers on her last visit looked as if it hadn’t seen activity since. But Sansa did know better. Below the fortress, like at Castle Black, each building was connected by an intricate labyrinth of tunnels and caverns. In the summer months, they were used for storage but, in the cold, most of the brothers would spend their days holed down there.  </p><p>There were still a few brothers mingling on the surface but keeping well covered and shielded from the wind. As Sansa pulled her horse up at the gates, a face appeared from the battlements, head to toe in blacks and greys. Behind her, she was joined by Tormund Giantsbane, who had yet to complain about the frost, Uma Reed, who mentioned it but seemed unbothered, and Gendry Waters who stuck out in the North like a desert. Sansa felt for the boy. He’d lived most his life in the South, in the heat of a forge. He’d volunteered to accompany her North but she knew he was deeply regretting his decision. When the figure recognised her and pulled on a crank that operated the gates mechanism, Sansa rode onwards, one hand adjusting her furs to better cover her cheeks stinging from the cold.  </p><p>They tied up their horses in the stables, mostly shielded from the outside, and found their own way to the chambers of the commander. They were relieved to find a brother guarding his door and a fire blazing within.  </p><p>‘Your Grace!’ Cotter Pyke was sat at his table, writing into a leather-bound book when they were admitted. He set his work aside and stood to greet them, bowing his head towards Sansa and taking the others firmly by the hand. He was a strange man to look on with small eyes, a broken nose and a face riddle with pox scars. Still, he smiled broadly when their introduction was done and invited them to take a drink. He’d been good enough to her when she arrived from White Harbour, and though she knew he had a reputation of living up to his Ironborn heritage, she doubted he posed much of a threat.  </p><p>‘It’s good to see you again.’ Sansa’s companions stationed themselves by the fire- except Tormund who remained behind her, his great eyes narrowed at the commander.  </p><p>‘And you. I suppose you’re here regarding your brother?’ His voice was deep and harsh.  </p><p>‘Aye, where would I find him?’ They’d spotted the Manderly ship docked in the harbour so she was certain he had arrived. <em> Good, I’m not keen on freezing here for any longer than I need too.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Find him?’ He chuckled at that but soon remembered himself and stopped when no one joined in. ‘You can’t be meaning to go beyond the wall, your Grace? It’s hellish on the best days but now- I even warned your brother against it and he was Lord Commander.’  </p><p>‘I don’t understand.’ She looked to Tormund who was still staring intently at the black brother. ‘Where is Jon?’  </p><p>‘Gone. Went beyond the wall this morning with his group and a couple of my rangers. He brought one man along with him, a knight, I think. The others were already here. Said they were waiting for him to come which I thought was bloody fucking weird but these days what isn’t?’  </p><p><em> He sends me a letter to ask for my leave for him to go then he goes himself anyway? Bloody hell, Jon! What makes him think he has the right to make those decisions?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>When did he arrive here?’ She took a step towards Cotter Pyke, not bothering to mask the pure fury that threatened to envelop her.  </p><p>‘Yesterday, early hours.’ He spluttered out. ‘Asked if we’d received a letter from yourself then waited here for the day. His woman told him he had to stay and wait for you but he went anyway and left her behind.’  </p><p>‘Woman?’ <em> Would he dare call Daenerys Targaryen ‘woman’? </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Yeah. Asha Greyjoy. Kin of my own. She’s down in the ship still if you wanted to ask her.’  </p><p>‘And where is Daenerys Targaryen? Did she go North with them?’ <em> Perhaps there is still hope for us to reach an agreement even if Jon has completely abandoned his wits.  </em> </p><p>Cotter Pyke stood upright at that and shook his head firmly. ‘No Targaryen’s here. If he was with the Dragonqueen I didn’t see her and no one mentioned it.’  </p><p>‘Fuck!’ Sansa cursed aloud. Not only had her brother left on a fool’s errand without her consent, she’d travelled all the way to Eastwatch to meet with a Queen still warm and dry at Dragonstone. Pyke cast a strange look over but she couldn’t give less of a shit what he thought. <em> Am I the only sane person in this whole bloody kingdom?  </em> </p><p>In another moment she’d stormed out of the Commander’s chambers, unaffected by the bitter gales battering her from all directions. She had the urge to scream into the empty, cloud covered sky but she knew she had to pull herself together. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a practice dummy left out among the sparring weapons. Before she could stop herself, she was pounding her gloved fists into its straw stomach, teeth clenched and brow furrowed.  </p><p>‘I think ya got him.’ Tormund Giantsbane approached her from behind and placed one of his great hands on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she pulled away from the dummy and dropped her hands to her side. ‘Your brother’s a right cock. Which is funny considering the size of his actual-’ </p><p>‘Thank you, Tormund.’ She interrupted before he spared too many details about her brother that she didn’t need to know. Above them, Uma and Gendry were heading down wooden steps, followed by Cotter Pyke. She straightened herself and called out to them. ‘Commander, may I ask a favour?’  </p><p>‘Depends, you must remember we don’t involve ourselves in the matters of Kings and Queens.’ He shot her a challenging glare but she decided to ignore it. <em> It is not wise to bait me now.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Then you should be grateful this has nothing to do with such matters. All I ask is for a raven.’  </p><p>‘To send back to Winterfell, that can be arranged.’ His expression didn’t soften.  </p><p>‘No. Tormund, Uma and Gendry will be heading beyond the wall. They will require a raven to send back word when they find my brother.’ The thought had come to her as she was beating the straw stuffing from the dummy. Jon had made his decision, however foolish and insolent it was, and she had no choice but to make the best of it. She had no choice either, but to ensure his safety. He was her brother, no matter how much fury bubbled beneath her calm exterior.  </p><p>‘We’ll gladly fetch him.’ Tormund grinned, excited by the thought of heading out into the frozen waste beyond the wall. He had acclimatised so well to Winterfell she sometimes forgot his home lay many leagues away.  </p><p>‘No, you won’t. I want you to go with him and join his hunting party. Jon has already risked his life for the sake of one wight for the Dragonqueen, she must be worth it.’ She looked towards Uma and Gendry who reached the courtyard. ‘You three will go North and send word when you find him. I know it’s not what you joined me for or what you’re used to but-’  </p><p>‘It’s our pleasure.’ Uma grinned, stamping her spear against the ground. Beside her, Gendry appeared less enthused but he still attempted a smile.  </p><p>‘Good. Take the horses and a raven. If they left this morning and you make good progress, you should come across them soon. I will wait here with Lady Asha.’  </p><p>‘You should ready yourselves now before we lose the light.’ Pyke advised. ‘I’ll get you the bird.’ He didn’t stop to bow or say a word as he marched off in the direction of the tallest tower of the fortress. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself; the cold was beginning to set in once again.  </p><p>‘Are you sure you’ll be alright alone? One of us can stay if you like?’ Uma Reed seemed kinder than most, even with the frogspear in her hand.  </p><p>Sansa shook her head, looking outwards towards the wall. ‘As I said, I’ll have Asha Greyjoy for company and protection. I need all three of you to go, that’s the only way I can be sure all three will return, hopefully with Jon in tow.’ Not quite convinced but not keen to question her, the group moved back towards the stables where their horses huddled together in one corner. Sansa helped them untie and prepare the horses once again for travel.  </p><p> </p><p>When the three of them had been swallowed by the forest beyond the wall, Sansa took her leave of the fortress and made her way down to the docks. She found Asha Greyjoy alone in her cabin, leant over a <em> cyvasse </em> table in deep concentration. Sansa hadn’t bothered to alert any of the crew to her presence and most seemed to have taken refuge inside so no one stopped her from reaching the captain’s quarters and opening the door.  </p><p>‘I didn’t take you for one who plays boardgames.’ She began, startling the Greyjoy princess who nearly knocked the board over as she stood to bow. Sansa raised her hand to stop her. ‘There’s no need.’  </p><p>‘W-what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at Winterfell.’ Asha pulled sat back in her seat and gestured for Sansa to take the one opposite.  </p><p>‘As did I but things have changed. I thought I’d come here and meet with Daenerys Targaryen before my brother set off. I have failed on both counts.’  </p><p>‘I told the bloody bastard to wait, like Marg had said. Not one of them took a pinch of notice. Didn’t even tell me when they were leaving.’ She reached towards a small table laid with decanters of various wines. Setting two cup downs, she poured them both a drink from the deepest amber sweet wine, not stopping to ask. Sansa didn’t mind, she accepted it and took several deep mouthfuls eagerly. It warmed her as it glided down her throat and sat in her belly.  </p><p>‘I doubt anyone could’ve stopped him.’ She sighed heavily. ‘My brother certainly inherited the stubbornness from my father. He should know better though, it’s what got my father and my brother Robb killed.’ She took another long swig. ‘Pyke mentioned there were others waiting here who joined him, did you know them?’ </p><p>Asha picked up her cup and watched it as she swirled the liquid round. ‘Strange bunch, all following the ‘Lord of Light’ from what I could hear. Three knights, a Ser Beric Donadarrion, Ser Thoros of Myr - a priest, and the big one: Sandor Clegane.’  </p><p>It had been some time since Sansa had heard any of those names. She could still remember the day Ser Beric and Thoros were sent by her father to capture the Mountain. Jeyne had fallen helplessly in love with the young Lightning Lord in the tournament held in honour of her father. Since then the two knights, with Stark support, descended into the riverlands and didn’t return. She’d heard rumours that Ser Beric was dead or that he was leading a team of bandits. It was Gendry Baratheon and Arya who had known him as the leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners. That was where their paths had also crossed with the Hound. But Sansa had known Sandor Clegane before that. He’d been Joffrey’s personal guard, his dog, for most of the time she’d known him but on the night of the Blackwater, she’d seen a different side to the giant. While the bay burned with green flames set alight by her not-yet-husband, the Hound had returned to the castle and hidden himself in her chambers. She’d sung to him before he deserted King’s Landing. After that she thought of him several times, wondering where he’d found himself but it was strange to know he’d found his way to her lost sister. Of course, Arya thought he’d died from a wound but it seemed the old dog lived on.  </p><p>‘How is Margaery?’ Anything to take her mind off her brother and the men braving the haunted woods and whatever lied within them. She was certain Asha had called her ‘Marg’ as if they were old friends.  </p><p>A ghost of a smile danced upon the captain’s lips. ‘She’s well. We decided it was best she remained at Dragonstone. At least it made sense when I was supposed to be heading North with the others.’ She leant back in her chair and grimaced. ‘Can’t imagine she’s having the best time though, staying with the Dragonqueen.’ </p><p>‘Oh?’ Sansa was keen to understand as much as she could about Daenerys before they finally met. ‘What did you think of her?’ </p><p>‘I can’t really answer,’ she admitted, running a hand though limp hair, ‘didn’t spend much time with her, neither of us did. Your brother handled that.’  </p><p><em> And now I wish he hadn’t. Whose idea was it to leave Jon in charge of diplomacy?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Did he get on well with her?’  <em> If he did, that’s at least something gained from this mess.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Aye. Can’t imagine he’d stay up there so much if he didn’t. I thought they were about to kill eachother when we were introduced but then he came down some days later naming her virtues like a lovestruck child. That’s what you wanted, right?’  </p><p>Sansa wasn’t surprised to know that Margaery her shared her plans with Asha. She hadn’t meant for her Hand and Commander of the Fleet to get on well on their trip to Dragonstone but she didn’t know what else she expected when she advised them to keep out of the way. Neither was she surprised that Jon had found the affection of his heart so quickly. Stark’s may be stubborn but they follow their gut hard. <em> Once again, </em>  she thought,  <em> he should be careful not to follow the same path as Robb did. Love was his downfall. Love has little place in the wars ahead. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>What do we do now?’ Asha ventured after a few moments of silence.  </p><p>Sansa finished her cup and poured another. ‘What else can we do? We wait.’  </p><p> </p><p>‘Tell me about him.’ Daenerys Targaryen was seated in the chambers allocated for the Lord of Dragonstone. By the burning stag sigils they’d found there upon arrival, she could only guess Stannis Baratheon had also stayed here. Behind her, Margaery Tyrell had been asked to keep her company and had taken an interest in the many tomes lining the bookshelves. When the girl had arrived at Dragonstone, she’d expected to be dealing with her the most, as a Queen’s hand yet, since their first meeting, she’d hardly had the chance to speak with her. Only when Jon and Ser Jorah had left for the wall with the Greyjoy girl had the Rose of Highgarden finally made the journey back up to the keep.  </p><p>‘I thought you’d want to ask me about Sansa.’ She spoke absent-mindedly as she reached the end of the books.  </p><p>‘I’ve heard enough about Sansa Stark from Tyrion for a lifetime.’ She allowed herself a smile, gesturing to a vacant chair by the fire. ‘I want to know about her brother.’  </p><p>Margaery nodded and took the seat, focusing her attention on the dancing flames instead of the Queen sitting before her. She considered her answer for some time before looking up and starting. ‘Jon may be a bastard but Ned Stark’s blood runs in his veins. I’ve heard the stories of the Starks in the North since I was a child and he lives up to every impression I ever got. Stubborn but strong. Fiercely loyal and never one to breach honour. Jon’s something else to. I never saw him lead the Night’s Watch but I could tell even after he had stepped down that he had earned their respect. There were older men there than him, more experienced but they all looked to him as their leader. Even the wildlings, in a way.’ She had folded her arms gracefully across her lap, never letting the image of a perfect lady drop.  </p><p>‘The wildings, that intrigues me. Tell me.’ She leant slightly forwards in an attempted to breach the formality that suffocated them. The two of them were of the same age and Daenerys didn’t know why they had to adhere to the rules like the whole of the realm were watching.  </p><p>‘They were fleeing from the dead. Jon said he was sent to join their ranks for a while, to find out what they were doing. He returned to the wall to defend against attacks but, when he was made Lord Commander, he opened the gates to them. No one else has ever done that. That’s why he’s important, not just another bastard.’  </p><p>‘Hmm.’ Dany remained silent, now herself finding comfort in the ebbing and flowing of the flames. She was glad not to be the only one who saw something strange in Jon Snow, something she couldn’t help but find familiar. ‘And yourself? You must be important too.’ She smirked at kindly as she could, taking the girl’s hands in her own.  </p><p>‘How so?’ Margaery raised an eyebrow towards her but didn’t pull away.  </p><p>‘Well you’ve already been married to two men calling themselves King. Not many women can profess to that.’  </p><p>Margaery chuckled and looked down towards their joined hands. ‘Yet I never had a choice in either case. I can’t remember the last time I was completely free to choose my path.’ There was a melancholy in the rose, her bright petals wilting.  </p><p>‘How many of our choices are truly our own? I thought I was free from others after my husband died, when I had my children. Time has since taught me little about my life is really in my control.’ She dropped her hands and sat backwards into her chair. <em> Even the cushioned seats are unbearably uncomfortable. ‘ </em>How did it feel, to be Queen?’  </p><p>Margaery appeared taken aback by the question and for a few seconds she fiddled with the sleeve of her gown.  </p><p><em> Don’t act like it was all terrible. Varys has told me plenty of how the people adored you. They loved their Queen Margaery more than their King.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> I thought it was the best thing in the world.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I’d always wanted to be  <em> the  </em>Queen and to actually sit in that seat and hear their shouts for me. I couldn’t have wished for anything more. Things are never quite as they seem though, are they? Nothing can ever be so sweet.’ Her voice had turned bitter.  </p><p>‘But would you do it again, sit on that throne. If you knew you wouldn’t have to sit alongside someone like Joffrey Baratheon.’  </p><p>Margaery looked upwards, her deep brown eyes set hard on her own, filled with a sudden determination. ‘Without hesitation.’  </p><p> <em> At least she’s no liar and not a coward either. The Queen’s hand with her eye on a kingdom of her own? That may prove difficult for me and Sansa Stark both. Tyrells are known for their cunning and ambition and this one has already had a taste of power.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>She found her own hand before the table that depicted Westeros so perfectly. It would be even better if the paint wasn’t chipped and fading and great parts weren’t obscured by old stains. She’d grown fond of it, staring across it like a God looking down upon her kingdom. Sometimes she could imagine the little Lords in their keeps and the peasants working the land. As she entered, her eyes wandered the expanse of land that made up the North. It was great but largely barren. The keeps spread across it were large but old and the peasants lived in towns and villages instead of the cities of the South. White Harbour was a valuable port and they benefitted being in the vicinity of the Iron Islands but the South was dotted with ports and harbours and well connected to a number of useful allies. <em> Would ceding it be so bad?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Are you alright, your Grace.’ Tyrion questioned from his seat. ‘You seem elsewhere.’ He wasn’t wrong. Her mind wasn’t in Dragonstone – it wasn’t in one place at all. Part of her was in King’s Landing, standing above the bastard girl sitting in the throne that was hers by  birth right . She walked the dunes of Dorne, feeling the unrest and tension swimming in the air. She found herself at Winterfell, that beat with life like a single body. Lastly, she stood atop the wall, looking out across the empty leagues before her. There wasn’t a soul to be seen but somewhere in the mountains hidden under cloud, Jon Snow was hunting down a  wight .  <em> Would he go to such lengths if he didn’t believe in the threat? Is he doing all of this for my sake alone?  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Do you know what I like about you?’  </p><p>He raised his head and shook it. ‘I honestly don’t.’  </p><p>‘You’re not a hero. All these men, Drogo, Ser Jorah, Daario, even this Jon Snow, they all try to outdo eachother of who can do the stupidest, bravest thing.’ She fell into a seat and wrung her hands together. </p><p>‘It is strange that such heroic men are always drawn to <em> you. </em>’ Tyrion spoke in mock surprise. ‘One could suggest they have a shared reason for their stupidity.’  </p><p>‘Being stupid for the sake of impressing me?’ She scoffed at that. She knew they were just jesting but she didn’t enjoy his tone.  </p><p>‘And yet you’ve fallen for each of them, in their own way. Don’t look so offended, Jon may be a bastard but he’s a good man. One of the best as far as I’m concerned.’ Tyrion swilled his drink.  </p><p>‘I have not fallen for Jon Snow.’ She shot back, startled by the mere suggestion that she would allow herself to give in to a man so quickly. Yet Tyrion did have a point. <em> I have a tendency to give my heart away too soon and live to regret it. Not this time. This is war and nothing more.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> That may be so, but he  <em> has  </em>fallen for you. I don’t know what you showed him in the caves but he hasn’t stopped giving you his soppy eyes since then. Now he’s gone back across the realm for your sake. You can’t deny it.’ He spoke in his way that made everything he was saying seem obvious and her feel incredibly stupid.  </p><p>She stood and marched back towards the table, her eyes once again falling on the long wall that divided the Kingdom from the wilderness beyond. With her finger she traced the journey the ship would’ve taken from Dragonstone to Eastwatch. She coughed and looked back upwards to Tyrion who was still examining his drink.  </p><p>‘I am not to blame for his fantasies. If he loves me, that’s his business. He has chosen to go North. If it’s for my sake? That was his choice.’ She could hear the doubt in her own words.  </p><p>‘But if he didn’t make it back to his sister at Winterfell? Sansa wouldn’t blame you for his choices, she knows her brother too well, but could you ride beside her and not feel at least partially responsible?’ He turned to look at her then, raising an eyebrow. She looked away. </p><p>‘Do not presume to speak to me like you know me, my Lord. You have known me the least of everyone else here so you cannot lecture me in how I feel.’ Dany said, her voice curt and cold. <em> I’ve had enough of this conversation.  </em> </p><p>Tyrion only shrugged his shoulders and lifted his palms to her in his defence. He turned back in his seat and returned to sipping his drink. She bristled at his silence so instead made her way to the great stone arches that led out into the wind battered sea below. In the distance, she watched her dragons soar down and pluck fish the size of horses from the water.  </p><p>‘I’m only offering my counsel.’ Tyrion had jumped from his seat and joined her looking over the waters. She’d been so focused on her children feeding that she hadn’t heard him approach. When he spoke, she started slightly.  </p><p>‘Well I don’t want it at the moment. I know my own mind.’  </p><p>‘Aye, you do. But I know Jon Snow’s.’ He sighed, dropping his voice low. ‘I know he’s doing this for you, not the sake of his sister or even the North. He’s like the other heroes you know but not exactly. I may not know your mind but I do know you see that difference in him.’ He cocked his head towards her and she felt the tension in her shoulders slip away. <em> He means well, I cannot fault him.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>For a start he’s a great deal shorter.’ She spoke through her grin. She only later realised how much the thought of Jon Snow had made her smile. She looked between Tyrion and her Dragons as her mind span, dizzyingly.  </p><p><em> Jon Snow is not my responsibility but he’s launched himself into the unknown for my sake. I don’t know him well but he doesn’t know me well either yet he’s still risking his life to prove something. If something were to happen to him, I don’t know how I’d feel but Tyrion’s right, I couldn’t look at his grieving sister without feeling a kind of guilt. It’s not my place and it’s not even the best move but I won’t be the Queen who lets others risk themselves for her. If I do, I’m no better than Cersei Lannister.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> I think I’ve gone insane.’ She muttered as she swept from the room. With a cry Tyrion hurried after her but was stopped when she closed the room of her chambers behind her. Margaery had long gone which she was glad for-  <em> no one should see me so manic.  </em>With nimble hands she rifled through her clothes until she found what she was looking for, a long white gown covered by a cloak that fastened tight from hem to neck, lined with a thick layer of wool. She pulled on two layers of gloves to save her fingers and chose a pair of sturdy strapped shoes that wouldn’t be cast off by high winds. When she emerged from her room, Tyrion was waiting outside for her.  </p><p>He looked her up and down and went to make a comment but she was storming out. Quite suddenly the passing of time occurred to her and she knew she had to make her move now or she could be too late. <em> I don’t know what I could be late for but I can’t leave them out there to die.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You can’t do this.’ He cried as she left the keep and found the cliffs her dragons had taken a particular interest in. Behind Tyrion, Margaery Tyrell must’ve followed them outside, wrapped in a thin shawl, her brown hair catching on the crisp wind.  </p><p>She went to tell him that she had no choice but she stopped herself, remembering Margaery’s words to her earlier. She hadn’t many choices throughout her life but now she faced an honest junction. This was her choice and she wouldn’t let anyone take it from her. Drogon had spotted her and he and his brothers met them on the cliff side, clawing at the grass. She took hold of his mighty black neck and hauled herself onto his back. She was a little wobbly but she’d tried this a few times before – at least Drogon didn’t seem to mind having her on his back.  </p><p>Without looking at the two hands watching her go, she squeezed her thighs straddled around the base of Drogon’s neck and he took her meaning, pushing himself upwards and turning towards the open waters. His brothers followed suit preparing to fly. The wind was already biting at her exposed cheeks but she clenched her teeth and did her best to ignore it. With a small run forward, the dragon spread his red laced wings and took to the sky, the cliff disappearing below them. In another instant, when she turned, Dragonstone was out of sight and all she could see was sea and her dragons. She turned her arms to direct him towards the North.  </p><p><em> He  </em> <em> better be </em> <em>  worth it.  </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Your Grace, come quickly!’ The black brother didn’t bother to knock at the captain’s quarters when he barged in. He found Asha Greyjoy asleep in her chair, feet propped up on the side, and Sansa Stark, distracting herself with a book but keeping an eye through the porthole at all times. </p><p>At once she had discarded the book and was on her feet.  </p><p>‘Are they back?’ She pushed passed him and through the galley’s corridors until she reached the deck. From there she skipped down the gangboard and started in the direction of the fortress. They’d received a raven from beyond the wall the morning before, signalling that Tormund, Uma and Gendry had join Jon’s party and were still searching for a wight. While that was a weight lifted from her shoulders, she couldn’t help still worry at the thought of her brother so far away on a futile quest. <em> He better come  </em> <em> back, </em> <em>  I think I deserve to hit him several times for all of this.  </em> </p><p>A group of black brothers swarmed around the gates but, however she craned, she couldn’t spot fiery red hair or her brother’s small frame. She excused herself breathlessly as she made her way to the front where she found the maester hunched over a single figure, collapsed in the snow.  </p><p>‘Gendry?’ Robert Baratheon’s bastard lay in the middle of the crowd, heaving and shaking from the cold. To her relief, she couldn’t see any injuries on him but her whole body burned with questions. With the help of some of the brothers, the Maester escorted him to his own chambers and Sansa followed quickly on their heels. He was set down on a large table and the maester got to work, feeding him a poultice of herbs while he instructed a steward to run down Gendry’s arms and legs with an ointment that, at his sharp inhaling of breath, Sansa assumed was painful.  </p><p>She stood watching their work for some time, glad to find Asha had caught up with her but unable to control her impatience. Her foot tapped on the stones and her fingers flexed and fiddled while they waited. Eventually, the maester sat back and dismissed his boy.  </p><p>‘That’s all I can do. The boy ran far in the cold but it hasn’t settled inside. He’ll be fine.’ He shook out his spotted hands and, with a kindly smile, let them be.  </p><p>‘Gendry?’ She ventured quietly. When he stirred, she stepped forward and carefully took one of his hands between her own. Gradually, his eyes flickered open and he blinked several times as he adjusted to the light.  </p><p>‘You Grace?’ He mumbled through a coarse throat. Carefully, he shifted himself and propped his abdomen up on one arm. ‘What happened?’ He searched the room.  </p><p>‘You were found outside, collapsed in the snow. Guards on the wall said you were running. What happened out there?’  </p><p>He brought his free hand to his forehead and rubbed it, low groans escaping his mouth. ‘Did you get the raven?’ She nodded. ‘We found your brother and his men. They’d already lost one to this bear. Some kind of wight I think. We walked with them for a while but the horses threw us off and bolted. We’d stumbled across the whole bloody army of them, Sansa. I couldn’t count how many but they were everywhere. They told me to run back to tell you. I do-don't know-’  </p><p>‘Shh.’ She gave his hand a squeeze and attempted her most convincing smile. ‘You did well, Gendry. Rest.’ She dropped her hands and turned towards Asha whose face was a picture of concern. Only when she turned away from Gendry did she let her forced grin falter and her emotions become the better of her. Her eyes welled quickly and she felt her skin rise in a flush of heat. Her hands were trembling and she felt her breath hitch in her throat as she tried to keep it under control. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the image of her brother and her friends torn apart by the army of the dead or them returning to her as wights, coming to take her too. The dead swam before her eyes and before she could leave the room, she felt her legs give away and he knees meeting the hard floor. Asha’s arm had swept out and stopped her from falling all the way to the floor but once she was down, she couldn’t picture herself standing again.  </p><p>She was knelt before her executioner in King’s Landing on the steps before Baelor the Blessed. The eyes of a thousand peasants were on her, jeers launched at her, cursing her, urging them on. On one hand, Cersei Lannister stood high above her, her green eyes sparkling in the autumn light and her cruel mouth smiling like she’d won the greatest prize. On the other, she saw herself, wearing a fine dress, a face still full of hope. She realised then that she was not herself, but Ned Stark with Joffrey Baratheon looming ahead, enjoying every moment of it.  </p><p><em> If you stay down there, you’re going to die.  </em> She told herself.  <em> Get up. Get up! </em> </p><p>Sansa was on her feet and marching out of the maester’s rooms and into the courtyard, Asha following behind.  </p><p>‘What do we do?’ The Kraken called out as she strode forward.  </p><p>Sansa looked towards the wall extending into the skies, mocking her as Joffrey mocked her father. She spoke firmly as the tears stained her cheeks.  </p><p>‘We pray.’  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dialogue taken from 7x05</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Prayers of Wolves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sansa Stark had lost her faith in the Gods long ago. She used to pray with her mother in Winterfell’s small sept to the Seven. She prayed for her family to be safe, for her brothers to grow strong and for herself to find her prince. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Seven had ignored her pleas. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When she was in King’s Landing, she still spent time in the Red Keep’s sept. She’d light candles to the Warrior to protect Robb, the Mother to protect Catelyn Stark and the Maiden for herself. Then she’d kneel and join in the sweet songs that echoed off the glass walls and lose herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the Seven ignored her pleas. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Beside visiting the Sept, she frequented the heart tree in the Red Keep. She didn’t do so out of sudden faith in the Old Gods but as it was the one place she could sit in complete silence and not fear anyone would interrupt her. She barely saw another person pray in those gardens since the Northerners were cleared from the Keep. By then she had run out of people to pray for but often met with Ser Dontos in the dark of night to plan for her escape. No one paid attention to the pious girl praying every night. Not even Tyrion questioned her late expeditions. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was something that Bran said to her that had been playing on her mind. The spirit-seers of old, working mostly as priests, were always drawn to </span>
  <span>weirwoods</span>
  <span>. The Old Gods were closer to them than to others which allowed the priests to do their jobs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if the reason the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Godswood</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> brought me comfort wasn’t just because it was empty? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d beseeched the Old Gods of the North several times while she sat there in silence. She asked to be reunited with her home, to escape from the grasp of Cersei Lannister and to find her family once again. Those things had all come to her but she had believed she reached them by herself. If the Old Gods were looking over her though, that would explain a lot. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was why she found herself in the Haunted Forest, shivering on her knees before an </span>
  <span>ancient</span>
  
  <span>Weirwood</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Eastwatch</span>
  <span> itself didn’t have a </span>
  <span>Godswood</span>
  <span>, with most of their brothers hailing from the South, but there was no shortage of the sacred trees beyond the wall. A small group of brothers escorted her to it and stood aside while she lost herself in prayer. Asha Greyjoy had returned to her ship. Sansa wondered if she’d be praying to the Drowned God of the </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span> or if she too had lost her faith in the increasing tragedy that grew around them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She whispered her prayers into the wind, asking for protection for her brother and those that joined him in his search. She wished for the dead to stand aside and let Jon return safe to her and, without thinking, her mind wandered and she prayed for Tyrion Lannister. She wasn’t sure why her husband came to her in that moment but, just as Jon was far from her reach and in </span>
  <span>danger, no</span>
  <span> news of her Tyrion had reached her after his escape from King’s Landing. She knew from Jaime he’d escaped and made it on the merchant’s ship to Essos with Lord Varys but after that? He was just as lost to her as Jon might soon be if the Gods were unkind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes tight and hoped for someone to come to her. She’d been visited by members of her family lost to the wars, usually when she was conflicted, so now waited for one to kneel beside her and hold her hand. When she opened them, she was just as alone as before. She let out a disappointed breath and eventually pushed herself up and onto her feet. She signalled to the brothers keeping watch and began the trudge back through the snow to the wall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they stepped back through the tunnel that passed under the ice, the fortress was unusually busy. Where before only a few brothers had dared wander outside, and only to perform key duties, it seemed as if the whole garrison had crawled from their underground caverns and had packed into the courtyard. Asha had been waiting near the gates and started forward at their arrival. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Watchers on the wall have seen something in the sky.’ Asha looked upwards into the empty sky. Even in the cold, the sun had made an appearance, peeking through the light dusting of white clouds. Sansa looked up too, bringing up her hand to shade her eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Something?’ They walked forward to join the main crowd of men, all heads tilted up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the South, in the clouds.’ Asha didn’t sound impressed but was looking up nonetheless. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At once there was a shout from one of the black brothers standing atop the battlements. When eyes fell upon him, he pointed a plump arm upwards and heads turned in that direction. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa heard it before she saw it. A great screech from above rattled in the air, breaking the silence and sending a shiver through her. Then, from amongst the clouds, she caught a flash of a dark, leathery wind as it cut through the sky. It a moment it disappeared again from view but, with another savage cry, it dropped from its cover and dived low. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Curses fill the courtyard as its full body came into view. A great hulk of black mass, covered in scales and held in the sky by a pair of red-veined wings, wider than </span>
  <span>Eastwatch</span>
  <span> when fully stretched out. Its belly was great and its neck long, ending in a serpentine head, eyes fixed ahead. Sansa wasn’t looking at the beast for long. Perched upon its back, body flat and arms clinging around its neck, a small figure all in white held on for its life. The creature had passed as quickly as it had appeared and she only caught a flash of the rider but, in her heart, she had no doubt who it could be. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The courtyard still hadn’t returned to usual as attention was brought to two more dragons, one a cream and gold and the other of a bright green, that followed closely behind the larger black one. These bore no riders so flew more playfully, soaring around eachother and snapping at </span>
  <span>eachother’s</span>
  <span> wings. They too passed overhead, the green swooping so low that a gust of wind suddenly swept over the courtyard, knocking several of the men to their feet. When she looked behind her in the direction they were heading, there was no sign of any of them. It was as if they’d never been there. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck?’ Was all Asha Greyjoy could mutter when the courtyard eventually returned to life, erupting in curses and chatter.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes were still on the sky where the first Dragon had passed. She smiled. ‘That was Daenerys Targaryen.’ Silently, she gave her thanks to the Old Gods. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, they’d listened to her pleas. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion stumbled across Margaery Tyrell sitting by a fire, a cup of hot tea in one hand and the blanket covering her legs in the other. The Lady Hand of the North had selected a simple gown of black from the drab dresses left behind by the </span>
  <span>Baratheons</span>
  <span>. She didn’t acknowledge his entrance but looked up from her trance when he took the seat beside her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lady Margaery, I didn’t know you were up.’ For several days the young Tyrell had been holed up in her room, eating little and refusing all company. This was the first time he’d seen her since the arrival of </span>
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> Tyrell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen of Thorns arrived in a small boat with a Tyrell escort, cursing the steep steps as soon as she was admitted into the keep. The old woman was disappointed to know that Daenerys Targaryen had flown North that morning but she chose to remain at Dragonstone until her return. Margaery had been reluctant to welcome her grandmother but the two eventually embraced. He’d watched on as the older Tyrell took the youngers face in her own and spoke softly. Margaery had pulled away from her grasp, her eyes suddenly wide, searching and frantic. After several more words too quiet to catch, the Lady Hand had flown from the hall, leaving Lady </span>
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> shaking her head and rubbing her wrinkled hands together. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It had never occurred to Tyrion that Margaery was yet to hear about the fate of her father and brother Loras at the Sept of </span>
  <span>Baelor</span>
  <span>. They’d perished along with the faith militant, most of the council and a great chunk of the court. Varys had </span>
  <span>delivered</span>
  <span> them the news shortly before the Northerners arrived. He never thought that it may have missed them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As he stood there, watching </span>
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> speak brusquely to one her guards clad in golden roses, he realised that, for Margaery to just find out their fate, no one had mentioned their loss. It was understanding initially that it had missed her, considering how little time she spent in the keep but when she finally ventured up the cliff-face, surely such news would be revealed accidentally by someone wishing her well. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion had chosen not to mention it to the young rose. Back in King’s Landing, he’d found himself constantly apologising to Sansa Stark for the actions of his family. He had always felt such a buffoon, constantly trying to soften the blow that came from his own sister or nephew. Cersei was her own woman, he was by no means in control of her, yet her crimes were crimes of House Lannister and he knew, deep down, his wife hated him for his name. That didn’t explain why he hadn’t brought up the subject with Margaery yet he understood perfectly well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>commiserations</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> will never bring back her family. They are empty words uttered by the brother of the Queen who took them from her. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> will only bring her more pain. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I can’t stay locked away for ever.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘Besides, I had to find some way to avoid my grandmother. She wouldn’t leave me be.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I certainly haven’t missed her charm.’ He admitted, pleased when she offered a slight smile. Somehow, even in mourning, she’d perfectly pulled her hair into a neat braid and showed no signs of darkly bagged eyes. Lady Margaery was not one to be seen as anything but her absolute best. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What does the witch want?’ She sat herself up in her chair, diverting her gaze towards him. On a small table in front of her, a tray had been left with another cup and still hot tea. He poured himself one and sipped. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘To bend the knee to the Queen. She wanted to be the first to promise loyalty to Daenerys.’ He watched her expression from over his cup. Her brow furrowed and she set her tea down softly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where is </span>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span>?’ She quirked an eyebrow. </span>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span> Tyrell would be Lord of Highgarden, after Mace Tyrell’s death, Tyrion knew. He’d asked the Queen of Thorns the same question when she professed her family’s </span>
  <span>allegiance</span>
  <span>. The boy had a crippled leg but that shouldn’t have stood in the way of him taking the trip to Dragonstone if he too was in full support of the Targaryen claim. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your brother has different ideas. He hasn’t given consent for House Tyrell to declare for Daenerys.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He hasn’t?’ The confusion on her face didn’t lift. ‘Who instead?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion smiled into his cup before setting it down empty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The tea here is just as foul as the weather. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa Stark. Lady </span>
  <span>Olenna</span>
  <span> tells me he believes he owes the Queen in the North a debt after she helped you out from King’s Landing.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He made her a promise.’ Margaery admitted quietly. ‘I overheard them talking at Highgarden. He said that he would’ve given her the power of the Reach if he was Lord. Maybe he’s taking her up on that?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion nodded his head but he wasn’t convinced. ‘Things were different then. Sansa was just a Lady seeking her home and Daenerys Targaryen was a rumour in </span>
  <span>Meereen</span>
  <span>. This isn’t about the North at all. Both Queen seek the same </span>
  <span>retribution</span>
  <span> from my sister. There is no reason not to support Daenerys unless-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Unless he doesn’t support her at all, for the throne. But he can’t support Sansa instead. My brother is too wise to think that she’d abandon the North for the Iron Throne.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm,’ was all he offered, pausing a minute to appreciate the warmth of the fire. It grew colder each day as the force of winter travelled closer and, in Dragonstone, the constant gales made warmth a rarity. ‘What is it that you want, my Lady? Your grandmother wants Daenerys on the throne, your brother doesn’t. Where does the Hand of the Queen in the North stand?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery broke his gaze at that point, pouring herself more tea and distracting herself by staring into the amber water. Behind her eyes and behind the grief there was something else. In King’s Landing Margaery’s cunning never failed to amaze him. She effortlessly shifted conversations to what she wanted to say, effortlessly swayed people to her ideas and effortlessly placed herself at the very centre of the keep’s social circle. While she no longer needed to weave such a web, the Lady of Highgarden hadn’t lost her wile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you look forward to seeing Sansa again?’ She began after not answering his question. He wanted to press her more but decided she was smart enough to keep her secrets to herself. Anyway, he wasn’t against the shift in conversation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ He nodded simply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now I’m the one with secrets. It would be nice to see her again but she’s not the girl that I last saw in King’s Landing. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You know, she has no idea that you’re here.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But if she sees Asha Greyjoy before </span>
  <span>us,</span>
  <span> she’ll know what to expect.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not exactly.’ The smirk he’d grown well </span>
  <span>acquainted</span>
  <span> with returned to her face. He was glad to see it. ‘I told Asha not to tell her about you. Thought it would be a nice surprise.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want to kill your Queen? You think she’d want to see me?’ He looked upwards at her with </span>
  <span>an</span>
  <span> inhale of breath. ‘Her life has got infinitely better since I left it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And yet she takes every chance to defend you and she still calls you her husband.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We are technically married.’ He deflected turning his attention to his empty cup. ‘A marriage by the High-Septon needs another Septon to be annulled.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And she has never made an effort to try.’ Margaery leant towards him, shrugging the blanket off her shoulders. ‘If </span>
  <span>anything,</span>
  <span> Sansa respects you. I’ll know she’ll be glad to see you safe again.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll take your word, my Lady. You know her best.’ He pushed himself from the chair and started out of the room, leaving her to tea and mourning. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lord Tyrion.’ Margaery called out before he passed through the arched doorway. ‘I never answered your question, about who I would have on the Iron Throne. My answer is peace, that’s all. If Daenerys can provide that, I’ll call her name from the roofs but if she can’t-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion nodded towards the back of the chair. He knew her meaning perfectly well. The Rose of Highgarden had seen death and destruction. She’d seen cruelty and ignorance. She’d seen hate and fear. Few flowers can grow under such conditions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She isn’t alone in searching for the end of these wars but she stands in a unique position:  Hand of a Queen and, once, a Queen herself. If Margaery Tyrell thought she could be the one to offer peace to Westeros, would Dany be able to stop her? The people know her, she’d have the support of the Reach and I wouldn’t doubt it others joined just for the sake of avoiding the foreign Queen. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tyrion had once counselled his Queen that she couldn’t stay in </span>
  <span>Meereen</span>
  <span> as they would never see her as anything more than an outsider. He was starting to worry they wouldn’t find Westeros any different. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa Stark stood atop the wall, gazing out into the blustery nothing that stretched into the horizon. She kept her eyes fixed on the line of the furthest trees she could see, watching the sky intently. She’d convinced the black brothers to let her up as soon as they’d settled down from the appearance of the dragon overhead. She thought she was cold in the courtyard but, exposed on top of the hundreds of feet of ice, she feared standing still too long and made an effort to pace down a stretch of the wooden planks to keep herself moving. Arms crossed around her chest, holding her cloak against her, she refused all suggestions that she could wait down below. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I saw the speed of those beasts; she’ll have reached them by now which means it won’t be long till they return- unless something goes wrong. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Up alone, the thoughts that had plagued her since she’d learnt Jon had travelled North without her consent grew more vivid and near impossible to avoid. At times she swore she even saw some of her imagined disasters unfurling in the distance. With a squint and a shake of her head, she always realised she was mistaken. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But what if next time I’m not? What if nobody returns, not even Daenerys Targaryen? Will I stay here waiting forever? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was reminded of tale Old Nan used to enjoy telling. A young maiden had fallen in love with a solider when he passed through her village. She was so distraught when he left that she ran up a nearby mountain to watch him go. She remained so hopeful that he would return that she stayed up there, through wind and rain and sun, waiting for her prince to return. He never did but, as Old Nan would lean in to stay, she still waits atop that mountain as part of the stone itself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Am I the foolish girl putting her faith in a hopeless cause? Three dragons should be enough to take on the army of the dead. They might just defeat them all and stop them from ever coming South. But what if they don’t? If three bloody dragons can’t do it, we won’t stand a chance.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was taking a stroll on the boards when she heard someone reach the top of the stairs that crept up the ice barrier. Out of breath and wrapping her free arm around herself, Asha Greyjoy found her way beside her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wine?’ She held up a steaming cup of deep red wine. Sansa accepted and wrapped stiff fingers around it, carefully sipping. scalding the roof of her mouth. She didn’t care. She sighed in contentment as the spiced red spread its fire through her system, sitting comfortably in her belly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They stood together in silence, eyes always on the sky, but eventually Asha grew too cold and descended back down onto the ground. Sansa remained on top, mostly numbed to the weather and doing her best to distract herself with her worst predictions for what horrors were happening beyond the distant mountains. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace?’ She wasn’t alone for long. Limping and wrapped up nearly to suffocation, Gendry Baratheon had somehow forced himself up the wall beside her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should be resting, </span>
  <span>maester</span>
  <span> said.’ She spoke into the drop below, not daring to shift her gaze. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you should be in King’s Landing married to a dwarf.’ He said the words so calmly but she caught a smirk from the corner of her eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He sounds just like Arya. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes I wish I still was.’ She admitted. ‘Once I married </span>
  <span>Tyrion,</span>
  <span> I was at least safe and not completely unhappy. I’m glad I’m home but-’ She drifted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But home is a lot more complicated now than your memories told you.’ He turned to face her. ‘I only saw the state of Flea Bottom when I returned from Dragonstone. It reeked. I found myself back in a forge but the streets stunk of shit and piss and the people had forgotten kindness. Now I think about it, I think it was always like that but we don’t see the bad in our homes until we leave. We don’t always see the good either.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm. I don’t think my father ever had to deal with an army of the dead though.’ She allowed </span>
  <span>herself a small chuckle. He wasn’t completely wrong. The Winterfell she grew up in had died the minute she rode away from it. Her home was still her home when she returned but it could never be the same. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And if Jon never returns, it will be forever changed once again.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, finding the bastard smith still beside her </span>
  <span>she spoke the words that had been on her mind since she had reached the pinnacle of the Wall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls.’ She didn’t mean it to be heard but her words caught on the wind and Gendry lifted his head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’ll be back.’ He reached forward and took the empty cup from her hands. It felt good to be able to flex her fingers once again. He sidled closer to her and took her hand in his. As a Queen she knew she should’ve stopped him but she could feel his warmth through their many layers and it was the best feeling she could imagine. She knew she’d cried enough for a lifetime and something had held the tears back even as her mind reached into deeper places. She allowed herself this comfort. She knew it didn’t mean anything beside a kind gesture, she knew where Gendry’s heart truly lay. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘There!’ Gendry had dropped her hand and raised it to point towards the mountains. She followed his finger and, squinting hard, found what he had seen. A small dark fleck cutting across the sky. It was getting closer. Not a moment later a second appeared against the white and she could just about make out the movement of leathery wings. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At once she was running across the boards towards the stairs. Despite the sheer drop, she skipped down them two at a time, as a horn blew out to mark their arrival. The courtyard below her was filling again and she caught sight as Asha Greyjoy looking upwards, shielding her face from the sun. She jumped the last few steps and threw her head backwards, waiting for the beasts to pass overhead. Gendry was taking his time on the steps but was still hopping down with a sense of urgency. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Two dragons, I only saw two dragons. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Before long a great bellow filled the air, followed by a further away screech. Sending a gust of wind upon those below, the black dragon soared lowly above their heads, heading towards the empty land beyond the fortress. She only caught a glimpse of the creature, and mostly only saw the underside of its belly, but she saw the same white rider perched high on its neck, followed by others clinging for their lives. The lighter dragon followed soon afterwards, </span>
  <span>riderless</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Noise erupted when both beasts cleared the air but Sansa moved quickly. Men were already crowding around the gates to see the dragons but she pushed ahead. Asha did her bit, sharp elbows strategically launched at anyone who didn’t dare move for the Queen of the North. Once free of the throng, they left through the main gates and began running forward in the direction the dragons had headed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, this is how I meet the Dragonqueen: out of breath and half-frozen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond the crest of a small hill, Sansa caught sight of a flick of a wing and they picked up their speed. Laying in the bottom of valley, the great black dragon lay, its wings folded and tailed curled under itself. The slightly smaller one, the green and bronze, was sat upright, head bowed as the figure in white tapped its scaled brow. When she stopped marvelling at their size alone, her eyes fell upon those she’d seen its back, currently shaking themselves off or collapsed on the grass. She was glad to see the fiery hair of Tormund Giantsbane and, beside him, the slimmer figure of Uma Reed, cradling what looked like a broken </span>
  <span>frogspear</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tormund!’ She shouted as she skidded down the hill to meet them. At the shout of his name, the leader of the free folk looked up and a wild grin spread over his features. Without thinking her arms were round him and he returned the hug, holding her like a great standing bear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa, you should know-’ When they broke apart, she began searching the rest of their group. Many of the faces were </span>
  <span>unfamiliar</span>
  <span> to her. She tried her best not to look towards Daenerys Targaryen who's back remained turned to them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s Jon?’ She couldn’t see his mess of black hair or Night’s Watch cloak amongst the others. Tormund and Uma looked between them. Her smile dropped. ‘Where’s Jon?’ She asked again, her voice trembling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> overwhelmed us. We were surrounded. Thought we were all about to meet our Gods when those big bastards came down. We all climbed on but there was still more coming. Jon was still on the ground when she lifted off to avoid us being overrun too.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She was going to swing round and get him but, in the time that it took us, even as she sent </span>
  <span>dragonfire</span>
  <span> down, there were even more of the dead than before.’ Uma Reed took over when Tormund’s eyes dropped down. ‘Then this great bolt struck one of the dragons in the side. It went straight down like a pierced fish. I’ve never heard anything so loud as the sound it made when it hit the ice. We had nearly reached him but the walker that sent it was about to send another towards us. Jon told her to go.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last we saw him he was still fighting the bastards off.’ Tormund </span>
  <span>finished</span>
  <span>. ‘I’m sorry, your Grace.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She stood there in silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon can’t be dead. I would’ve known. When mother and Robb were killed, I knew they were gone before Tyrion told me. That’s how I knew Arya was still alive. Maybe it’s the connection to the dead. If Jon had fallen, I would’ve felt it. I know it. He can’t be dead. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Queen Sansa?’ The voice was not one she </span>
  <span>recognised</span>
  <span>. Sansa had realised she wasn’t paying attention to the others; she’d been staring at the space in-between Tormund and Uma. When she blinked, however, it was no longer empty. The voice was soft, calming, but it had a sharp edge that commanded her attention. Tormund and Uma stood to the side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> was shorter than she expected. As Sansa had seen from the ground, she was wrapped in a white cloak, nearly blending with her silver hair that hung in braids down her back. As the rumours told, she was fair of face and her pale skin seemed luminescent against the white snow surrounding them. Sansa found herself transfixed by the woman’s eyes, almost forgetting her loss. They were a bright violet- utterly captivating and utterly inhuman. Her eyes were kind but her mouth was drawn into a straight line, as if in pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And she called me Queen, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa realised, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys Targaryen called me Queen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Queen Daenerys.’ She managed, retaining her dignity. ‘Thank you for coming here. For the people you saved.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t thank me yet.’ The woman replied quickly. ‘Your brother-’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was something in the Queen’s eye that Sansa had mistaken for kindness. Now that they were closer, she came to understand it to be something different, something implacable. Her voice remained hard and firm and her face gave nothing away but in those </span>
  <span>eyes</span>
  <span> she was so drawn to, Sansa saw guilt, she saw guilt and she saw a deep sadness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ Sansa interrupted. ‘But Jon’s seen worse. He’s strong, us Starks are difficult to kill.’ She gave her best hopeful smile, for her own sake more than the Dragonqueen’s.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys looked her over and nodded her head. Without a word she passed by, quickly followed by a knight whose body was covered by a layer of dark hair. The others held back, speaking amongst themselves. The man sitting on the floor slapped two large hands against his thighs and one of his companions helped him to his feet. She was at least glad that no one seemed injured. That was a small comfort. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let’s head back.’ Her voice was quieter than she had meant and she had to repeat her words to be heard. Her friends joined her and she heard the others behind begin moving towards </span>
  <span>Eastwatch</span>
  <span> too. Once again, she faced the endless prospect of a wait, not for the appearance of dragons but for her brother alone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s not dead. I know it. He can’t be dead. He’s not allowed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She repeated the words in her head as they trudged back, her fists balled together and her vision slightly blurred. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was fucking cold. His arms ached. His legs ached. His head throbbed. His whole body burned in pain but it was the biting cold that was slowing him down. The ice water had been his undoing. Until the ground beneath him had caved in, he’d held his own against the incoming </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> but now, his clothes soaked and already hardening, each swing packed less energy. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He grunted as he sent his blade across three more </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span>, cutting hard into them and sending them falling back upon the ice. There was no chance to celebrate, three more soon filled their place. The undead beasts snarled and thrashed as they grabbed at him with bony, decayed fingers. Their clothing hung on them as loose as their skin and many had already lost at least one of their limbs. He hacked and slashed as they continued to close in on him but he was well aware he couldn’t keep this up forever. His breathing was growing more difficult and the pounding in his head refused to let up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is not where I die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He kept telling himself, with less certainty each time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did I make the right decision refusing the dragon? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d seen Daenerys Targaryen flying overhead and, like his companions, his fears were nearly washed away by the gush of air from the beasts flapping wings. With three dragons raining fire over the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span>, they finally stood a chance at escaping the heartless wasteland alive. Then one of her dragons had gone down, </span>
  <span>Viserion</span>
  <span> he thought, and the image of escaping faded away. He’d looked up and seen everyone else sitting upon </span>
  <span>Drogon’s</span>
  <span> back and imagined himself up on their too, he’d begun towards them before he saw the Night King in the distance, readying another ice spear. He’d caught Dany’s eye then and his mind was changed for him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> had only </span>
  <span>exuded</span>
  <span> confidence. She held herself with royal dignity but was not afraid to defend herself under scrutiny. She knew well her blood and her three dragons gave her the advantage over almost everyone else. She knew she was meant for greatness. Jon got the impression she’d known that for a long time. He’d seen something else in her on Dragonstone. She could be humble and remained naïve, having spent such little time in Westeros. Her heart was greater than she cared to admit but, despite that, she never let her guise of conviction drop. When her first dragon fell and she met his eyes however, it had slipped away. Instead, those luminescent violet eyes radiated fear over belief and he knew that he was asking too much. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He still couldn’t wish that he’d accepted a place alongside her. In doing so he could’ve doomed them all to the Night’s King’s excellent aim. He wasn’t willing to stake his own life on everyone else’s. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I hadn’t fallen in that bloody water. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He cursed himself again and again for his fate. As he continued to beat back the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> still descending on them, his mind floated back to a better time. He was traipsing the vast </span>
  <span>wilderness</span>
  <span> with the </span>
  <span>freefolk</span>
  <span>, still convincing them that he had cast aside his allegiance to the Night’s Watch. The wildlings were less caring about frequent bathing. They’d all seize a chance to strip off and bathe in a hot spring if they found one, or a heated cave as he had discovered, but otherwise they were content wearing the same clothes and only keeping their hands clean enough to eat with. It had been a week without such a discovery and Jon knew if he was at Winterfell or Castle Black, he’d be hounded for the stench of old clothes and sweat. They were passing a frozen river when he decided to stray off the path and find some clean water. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ygritte stuck out her hand before he got a chance to dip his foot. He’d found a small opening in the ice, just large enough for him to clean his feet and hands. It wasn’t exactly a bath but it was better than encasing himself in his own stench. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Put a toe in there, lose the toe.’ She warned, pulling him back and away from the hole. He grumbled, replacing his sock and retying his shoes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m swum in frozen lakes before.’ He huffed when he was finished. ‘I didn’t die.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Frozen lakes in the South.’ She scoffed, dragging back with the rest of the train. ‘The waters here are not so forgiving.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Had she said ‘you know nothing’ to him then? He couldn’t quite remember; she’d said it so much. In another instant he was holding her limp body in his arms. He cast that image out of his head quickly and brought his attention back to the fight at hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He thrusted his sword into one </span>
  <span>wight</span>
  <span>, barely resembling a man, before twisting it out and swinging an arch through the sky, landing in the path of two more. Still, they kept coming. He flexed his fingers on the hilt of Longclaw but he could feel his arms droop more with every movement of the bastard sword. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s hope she swings that Dragon round or the Gods decide to perform a miracle. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He had a chance to look downwards. The frozen ground was beginning to rise with the bodies falling upon </span>
  <span>eachother</span>
  <span> as he cut them down. He hoped in vain that this would slow down others but they climbed, or threw themselves over and came at him all the time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he looked back up, the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> had fallen still. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he thought the Gods had heard his pleas and was about to weave his way out of the throng of bodies and back into the forest. Before he could move, however, he watched on, struck to the spot, as the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> stepped to the side, parting and leaving an empty path between them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With long, firm strides, a figure took the path. Just by height alone, Jon knew him to be a white walker. His face was more ice than flesh but, unlike the pitiful </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  
  <span>surrouding</span>
  <span> them, his clothes were well kept and whole and he moved like a living, breathing man and not in the jumpy, crazed jerks of the dead. As he drew closer, Jon was certain he knew the figure. The Night King held himself unlike any of the other white walkers below him. He walked as Dany did, regal and refined but purposefully. Bile rose in Jon’s throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He shook out his arms, which were growing numb from stillness, and forced himself into a defensive stance, holding his </span>
  <span>blade</span>
  <span> to his side and staring down the approaching leader of the dead. The Night King didn’t show any signs of emotion bar the smile ever-present on his corpse face. His weapon was also drawn. He’d discarded the spears in favour of a longsword, dwarfing longclaw. Jon was certain it was almost as tall as he was. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Come here, fucker.’ He called out, sounding more like the wilding Tormund that himself. He spat into the snow, reddening it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Night King said nothing but continued to close the space between them. He raised his sword high and brought it crashing down. Jon at least had the good sense to jump out of the way before he was split in two, bringing his sword to his other side to meet the second swing of the great frosted sword. He </span>
  <span>span</span>
  <span> quickly round and sliced his blade horizontally, successfully cutting at the walker’s clothes but not causing him any harm. He soon found himself ducking down low as a quick swipe near took his head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>All his muscles were screaming out to him in their agony to give up. He even imagined the sweet relief of falling onto the cold ground and letting them take him. Every bone beseeched him to stop but he ploughed on, pushing back against each thrust and meeting every swing. He grunted as his blade met the King’s side, sending the walker several steps backwards. For a second, he was almost human. His façade returned quickly as they met eachother blow for blow. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon wasn’t a praying man but he prayed now, hard. He didn’t know which Gods would favour him but he called out to each of them as they endlessly danced their sword dance, neither ceding the other the advantage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They kept me alive this far, surely it wouldn’t be my fate to die at the hand of a dead man, alone, for nothing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That thought forced him onwards. Melisandre of </span>
  <span>Asshai</span>
  <span>, the strange Red Priestess who had served Stannis had shifted her favour towards him when her initial faith in the Stag king was proven ill-placed. Now she called Jon a prince and Azor-</span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> reborn with the same absolute certainty she’d applied to his predecessor. He couldn’t see himself as an ancient hero reborn but, if he was, he couldn’t die like this. He’d heard enough of the stories Sansa liked to know that heroes need to have their tales written by bards or </span>
  <span>maesters</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is no one here to tell my story.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Across the frozen ground, he took a step forward to </span>
  <span>deliver</span>
  <span> a powerful thrust into the dead King’s abdomen but his foot fell awkwardly and skidded, forcing him to his knee. He was soon up again on his feet but the slip cost him dearly, the </span>
  <span>greatsword</span>
  <span> came down swiftly upon him, lodging firmly between his shoulder and neck. If it wasn’t for his many layers of clothes, armour and mail, it would have taken his arm. Still, he let out an agonised howl as the sword was roughly pulled from him, staggering backwards as he felt that arm drop limply to his side. He cursed under his breath again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t his sword arm but the longsword was much too heavy to wield one-handed. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In a single movement he sheathed the bastard blade and took out a </span>
  <span>dragonglass</span>
  <span> dagger, one found on his first ranging mission North of the wall. It had been wrapped in a brother’s cloak and left covered by snow and dirt for Ghost to happen upon. His feet hopped quickly across the ground as he dodged and ducked, his hand darting forward in short, sharp slices. He had to get a lot closer to the Night King to reach him but that meant it more difficult for the long blade to be angled towards him. Their dance continued. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was losing blood. He could feel the warmth soaking through his mail and into his underclothes. Even in the bitter cold, his shoulder was uncommonly warm, burning at the sting of the blade that had cut into it. Every movement he made sent shots of searing pain through his arm and back. He gritted his teeth and held on but the pain around his body had already been nearly too much. He was out of breath, gasping for air through a ragged throat as he maintained enough speed to keep away from the Night King’s reach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All I can do is not die. Perhaps I can tire him out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In his state, he strongly doubted that he would ever be able to outlast the corpse before him. He never showed signs of slowing down. He didn’t seem to feel the wounds Jon had inflicted and, most of all, his expression of smug confidence never dropped. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His arm had seized up and he felt his legs began to buckle beneath him. Lying down seemed the greatest pleasure he could imagine. He backed away but found a wall of </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> pushing him back into the fray. He landed back on his knees. He looked into the sky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a nice day. I cannot see a cloud. This isn’t so bad. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Night King raised his arm like an executioner at the block. Jon closed his eyes tight. He expected to think of Ygritte – they could be together as before and wander the plains forever. Instead the image of Daenerys Targaryen danced on his eyelids. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The ground beneath him rumbled. He looked up to find the sword above him hanging in mid-air. All heads were turned towards the tree line where a deep thumping was growing, closing in on them. He took his chance and pushed himself out of the path of the blade and back onto his feet. A pounding of hooves could be singled out from the roar of noise.  He looked up just in time to see a burst of flame and </span>
  <span>great gloved hand swing down to pull him up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He clung to the figure ahead of him and they drove far from the army of the dead, ploughing through the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> like a horse through a field. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is no horse. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He craned his neck around and had to shake his head to believe what he saw. They were sat upon the back of a giant elk, its wide antlers catching the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> and flinging them out of their way. The figure that had hauled him to the beast’s back was also large himself and didn’t turn to show his face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon chanced a looked behind them as they broke past the army. He soon understood the rumbling within the forest. Thousands of creatures had fallen upon the army. He could see wilding horses, deer and elk, shadowcats as well as smaller birds hounding them from above and even hares and small ox darting about the </span>
  <span>wight’s</span>
  <span> feet, bringing them to the floor. In the din and sudden attack, the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> had forgotten him and the Night King quickly made his way back to high ground where his brethren watched over the chaos. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>wights</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> won’t be held off forever. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was nice to think the </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span> would be destroyed so easily but he knew well they’d just been slowed down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They will never stop coming. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He clung hard to the rider and breathed a quiet thanks to whomever looked down on him today. </span>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Sentry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> ‘ </em>What’s she doing?’ Arya had been sparring in the courtyard with Lady Brienne when she noticed her brother sitting in his chair by the open gates, staring into the near distance. She’d frequently found him looking into a wall or floor with great intent but, when she followed his eyeline, she could see something in the distance. Still throwing and catching Littlefinger’s blade, which she had named Cat’s Paw, she took her place beside Bran.  </p><p>‘She’s been standing there for an hour now.’ He spoke softly, not turning to look at her. ‘Guard said she was walking down a corridor and suddenly stopped and changed direction, walking straight into him and carrying on as if he wasn’t there. She walked all the way out there and just stopped.  </p><p>When Arya squinted, she could make out the figure of the woman well enough. She stood with long arms outstretched to the sky, her red robes catching in the slight wind. It had to be Melisandre of Asshai. Arya had quickly introduced herself to many of the new inhabitants of Winterfell and made it her mission to get to know them as well as possible. <em> So many faces, one is bound to crumble.  </em>The red priestess had been more difficult for her to understand. All Arya could tell was that she was deeply rooted in her beliefs and most were directed firmly towards Jon. Apart from that, she’d only been willing to tell Arya her birthplace and the temple she had worshipped at in Asshai. Such information was meaningless and Arya had returned to her rooms that night feeling largely unsatisified. At least this was something interesting, something she hadn’t seen before.  </p><p>‘Is she praying?’ The woman believed in the Lord of Light, perhaps she had a sudden urge to beseech him.  </p><p>‘I have never seen a red priestess behave like this.’  </p><p>Arya wanted to ask how many red priestesses her brother knew but she knew better and held her tongue. If she started that conversation Bran would start speaking in riddles about ravens and towers and ancient weirwoods. <em> He’s weird now, that’s all I need to know.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Is it something to do with Jon and Sansa?’ Arya had been eager to see her siblings back at Winterfell. It had been too long since she’d seen her big brother.  </p><p>Bran sat in silence. When she walked around to look at him, his eyes had rolled so far backwards all she could see was white. He’d done this in her presence a few times but it was still unsettling. She crossed her arms over herself and paced the floor while he was elsewhere. Eventually, his head dropped and he returned to her.  </p><p>‘So?’ </p><p>‘He went beyond the wall. I couldn’t stay long, I could feel the Night King nearby but, the animals were massing on the wights. I’ve never seen anything like that.’  </p><p>‘The animals were helping him? Were they controlled be people? The free folk have a few wargers.’  </p><p>‘No, I would’ve known if they were wargs. It was something else controlling them, something deeper. I couldn’t see it but I could feel its power.’  </p><p>As one, they turned to look towards the back of Lady Melisandre. Her head and arms were still tilted skyward and her robes continued to swirl around her in the breeze. She never appeared to feel the cold. <em> She’s helping Jon. She thinks he’s an ancient hero so she’s helping him or praying for help at least.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Is it possible?’ She mumbled.  </p><p>‘The dead have risen from their thousand-year sleep to descend upon the South and ravage the dawn. Anything is possible.’  </p><p><em> Does this mean the Lord of Light is real and we’ve all been in the dark believing in the Old Gods or the Seven?  </em>Arya hadn’t cared much about any Gods but she’d always appreciated the comfort of the Gods of the North. She liked the crooked smiles and bleeding eyes of the weirwoods. Everyone had their own faith, she’d seen enough of them, even the Many-Faced God of Bravos, to know all she needed to. She’d never seen any proof of their existence but if the Red Priestess had actually performed a strange magic, and not just creating fire like a street mummer but summoning an army of animals countless leagues away, that could change everything.  </p><p>‘They’ll be back soon.’ Bran piped up in the silence, dragging her from her questions. ‘The Dragonqueen will come to us soon. Then the night.’ His eyes never left the woman in the fields ahead. Arya turned and shook her head. <em> That woman used Gendry to pray for Stannis Baratheon but winter took him just the same. Even if there is a Lord of Light, he falls with everyone to the incoming cold. </em> </p><p> </p><p>‘Your Grace, perhaps it’s time-’ </p><p>‘No. I will wait here.’  </p><p>Jorah Mormont had accompanied her to the top of the ice wall but she could tell her bear knight was growing more impatient by the minute. He had never been one to stand around for a long time whilst she had caught herself staring out of her balcony of the Great Pyramid of Meereen on many occasions. Then she had lost herself in the views. Now she was focusing hard on the lines of the trees, begging whatever Gods favoured her for him to appear.  </p><p>Jorah Mormont coughed. ‘Sansa Stark is here, my Queen.’ </p><p>‘Queen Sansa.’ She insisted as her knight stepped away to allow the red-haired Stark to join her. ‘You were standing here before.’ She began, ‘when we flew over.’ She’d seen the same red hair peeking out of the hood of a figure standing in the same place she had taken now.  </p><p>‘Aye. I was.’ The Northern Queen didn’t have Jon Snow’s thick accent. She was soft spoken and clear like Margaery Tyrell. ‘I am grateful for what you did.’  </p><p>‘I only did what anyone would do.’  </p><p>‘Anyone with dragons.’  </p><p><em> Two dragons. I flew with three and returned with only two. My child, named for my brother, was taken from me but I don’t feel it. I cannot force myself to cry. My mind is still beyond this wall. If Jon Snow returns, at least this won’t be for nought.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Do you believe he’ll come back?’  </p><p>Sansa Stark thought for a moment. ‘He’s alive.’ She spoke with absolute certainty.  </p><p>‘How could you know that? You didn’t see what I left him with.’  </p><p>‘I just know.’ She answered offhandedly, dreamily. Dany turned from her watch to face the girl before her.  </p><p><em> She is just how Tyrion described; tall, slender, with wise eyes too.  </em>The Queen wasn’t everything that she had expected, however. She wore no crown or jewels, her eyes were deepened by dark circles and strands of her hair had fallen from the braided bun they were tied into. She took a moment to consider herself. In the near unbearable force of the winds while she flew, her hair had also come undone. In the unfamiliar cold, she could feel the redness spreading across her cheeks and she guessed she sported similar signs of tiredness. But Tyrion was right that she was a beauty, probably more than he remembered. Her porcelain skin was starkly contrasted by her bright hair and her features were pronounced. Daenerys had often worried that she was too round of face to compete with many women and the wolf-Queen did nothing to quell her fears.  </p><p>While she was distracted, she’d lifted her gaze from the treeline and brought her focus on Sansa Stark, trying to forget the reason she was stood at the edge of the world. A great sound shook her from her trance and immediately turned her forwards. A single blast of a horn, long and echoing, encased everything. She searched the white ground below for what had triggered it.  </p><p>A single horse had emerged from the trees, charging towards the wall. It was difficult from their height but she was sure she could follow the outline of a figure laid flat against its back, only moving up and down with the rise and fall of the horse. The smile that broke out on her face did so of its own accord and her feet moved independently too, carrying her down the uneven steps at dangerous speed. She nearly fell down the steps but managed to make it to the courtyard below where the mechanism to open the gates was just creaking into life.  </p><p>With the Night’s Watch surrounding her, she suddenly remembered herself and slowed down. She brushed off her cloak and took her time making her way to the front of the throng. The gate rose up. She dared a step forward. Jon Snow fell from his horse.  </p><p><em> I should fear the worst.  </em> She thought as she approached. When her Khal Drogo had fallen from his horse, that had signalled the coming of his final days. The Dothraki believed that if a man could no longer ride, his time had come.  <em> This time is different.  </em> She crouched beside him and pressed a hand to his cold temple, hair plastered to it.  <em> Sansa Stark was so certain that he lived and, for some reason, I believe her.  </em> He didn’t react to her  touch,  the watch had fallen silent. She searched behind her; the Northern Queen had found her way to the front. Her expression was cool but her eyes gave her joy away.  <em> Her brother is lying lifeless in the snow yet she still looks so certain.  </em>She reached out and found one of his hands. His gloves were frozen solid and she didn’t dare try and remove them. Instead she slipped her hand into his and squeezed as tight as she could.  </p><p><em> Sansa Stark won’t permit her brother to die and neither will I. He’s a Stark, the cold can’t be his death.  </em> </p><p>A twitch. One of his fingers twitched beneath hers. She felt it for less than a second but she knew it was no creation of her imagination. She felt the tension in her shoulders release and she let go of her breath. She couldn’t say why she cared if this bastard lived or died. She supposed it was because he had gone North for her own sake and she’d failed to get him out with the others. If it wasn’t for that, she’d not care at all. He was stubborn and annoying. He lacked respect. He was over-confident and desperate to prove himself a hero. He was terribly short. He was nothing compared to the rightful Queen of Westeros.  </p><p>And yet, she cared, and it scared her.  </p><p> </p><p>‘This is the capital of Westeros yet I have never seen such poverty, such depravity.’ Myrcella Baratheon stood at the top of the council table, looking down upon her meagre council. Since the destruction of the Sept, most of those with any influence on the court had perished and many others didn’t dare enter the Red Keep. She cursed her mother every night for her foolishness.  </p><p>Cersei sat with them at the council table, given there were plenty of empty seats, constantly interjecting and offering alternatives. Myrcella had tried her hardest to get her mother forbidden from the chambers but the guards were in her pocket and every attempt had failed. <em> The old Lioness is clutching at her diminishing power. I am the Queen. At least these meetings serve to remind her of her position.  </em> </p><p>Myrcella had taken a walk through the city the day before, on her way to the harbour to give the royal blessing to a new warship – <em> The Crow’s Wife.  </em> She wasn’t sure  of the meaning of the name, Cersei had chosen it, but  Euron  Greyjoy seemed to enjoy it. She couldn’t be quite sure who she despised the most out of the two of them. She was lucky the King of the  Ironborn  rarely came to the Keep but sometimes he came to beg favours from the crown and ‘entertain’ her mother. He smelt foul and his words were even worse. At times he sung poetically, honouring her mother’s many apparent virtues but he spoiled each compliment with a vile leer or a twisted innuendo she wasn’t supposed to understand.  <em> They forget that I am a woman grown – a married women who can guess precisely what ‘the Lioness’ warm lair’ refers to.  </em> </p><p>She was ever grateful for her Trystane. Her husband understood her distaste well and never failed to offer a hand to squeeze or an ear for her to voice her many problems with the strange courtship unravelling before her.  </p><p>Before she had the misfortune of reaching the docks and coming across the Kraken, they’d passed through the poorest districts of the city. She’d never seen it so putrid. The city had become a festering wound and these areas were the centre of the infection. The hovels were overflowing, the whores once singing from their windows bore a sickly pallor and the tradesmen had turned to flogging decaying rats and birds instead of their useful prize cuts. She’d tried to ask her mother what had changed but Cersei Lannister simply shrugged.  </p><p>‘Shouldn’t the Queen know about the state of her city, of her people.’  </p><p>She’d decided to bring it to the council instead but they offered her little else.  </p><p>‘King’s Landing is a prosperous city.’ The new master of coin declared proudly. ‘As everywhere there are periods of stagnation but soon, you’ll see us blossom again. There is no cause for worry, my Queen.’ He was a man of the Reach, lacking a significant name and knowing little about anything he ever spoke about.  </p><p>‘You have not seen it, my Lord.’ She grew more impatient at every meeting. All she wanted was change but these old men her mother had assembled liked things the way they were, even if that meant leading everyone to ruin. ‘We cannot ‘blossom’ without some care, like any plant. There must be some money for the poorhouses. There must be more for alms.’ </p><p>‘There is little I can give. The city is preparing for war.’ He smugly settled himself in his chair.  </p><p><em> A war we will never fight if I have any say. This city is falling to ruin for the sake of defending against Sansa and the  </em> <em> Dragonqueen </em> <em>  but I say, let them have it. All I need to do is keep it alive until they arrive.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You have spent this money on what exactly? If it is on defence, where are the cannons and catapults? If it is on more men, why are the streets still running wild with thievery and rapes? I have heard so much about this spending but I’ve yet to see any proof.’ She crossed her arms over her chest but quickly pulled them back. She knew it made he look like a sulky child.  </p><p>‘Scorpions, my dear. There are hundreds of them in the cellars. I can take you to see them if you wish.’ Cersei Lannister sounded almost sincere in her sweetness. Myrcella knew better.  </p><p>‘No thank you, mother. I can guess what they look like.’ She sighed, breaking her gaze from the council table. ‘Is it too much to ask for the people of this city to not live so poorly? I remember when even the poor were happy. They still attended feast days and festivals. They prayed at the Sept and bowed their heads like everyone else. Now they don’t have the time to enjoy their lives. They work till their back breaks then go back to little food and no pleasure. All the while we still live comfortably here, more than comfortably. I know the crown can spare something to help them.’  </p><p>‘I believe you are right, your Grace. Something must be done to these poor fellows.’ Qyburn offered. Myrcella misliked him too. The words were never spoken but she knew he had been involved in the destruction of the Sept and was likely still conspiring with her mother to claim the crown. He was weasley, wrinkled and his hair barely covered his small head. His eyes were beady though and whenever she held council, she felt them on her, never looking away except to briefly look towards her mother. He rarely spoke at meetings so his words gave a shock.  </p><p>‘And what would you do?’ She eventually replied. She didn’t refer to him as a Lord. He was disgraced from the citadel and held no lands or real titles. She wouldn’t give anything more than he deserved.  </p><p>‘What if these peasants worked for the crown? Most of them are in some trade or, I’m sure, could perform some simple task. If we purchase their goods from them, we could provide them with a better life and sell the produce off to the wealthy for a slightly higher price.’ His thin lips never lost their leer.  </p><p>‘That sounds good.’ She managed to utter. She was deeply surprised the shrewd stranger had had such an idea. She doubted he came to it completely himself.  </p><p>‘We cannot trust those people though. I’ve seen the streets.’ Cersei interjected. ‘We give them money the beasts will gamble it away or spend it on ale and whores.’  </p><p>‘So, we don’t give them money, we give them the food and clothes they need.’  </p><p>‘And guards will make sure their vile behaviour is punished?’ </p><p>‘Of course.’  </p><p>Myrcella looked between the two of them. She knew it was no coincidence they’d started so opposed but soon found common ground. <em> Mother must have guessed I would bring this up today and formed a plan with her servant. What  </em> <em> does </em> <em>  she gain from feeding the peasants?  </em> </p><p>‘But they will need to be restricted, it’ll be too costly to spread the Goldcloaks across the city. If all the poor were in one place, they could be watched by less men.’ Cersei continued.  </p><p>‘You wish to box them in?’ As she pictured the poorest of King’s Landing being herded towards one street, she began to see her mother’s vision unfolding. The poor would become a machine, working for the crown but, Myrcella knew, getting the bare minimum in return and heavily policed by the Goldcloaks. ‘I won’t let that happen. I like the original idea, buying their goods from them for resale.’  </p><p>‘Ah we cannot trust them, my dear. You are naive but they are really monsters and they won’t hesitate to flit their money away. Why do you think they are so poor in the first place?’ Cersei Lannister seemed to be growing tired of the conversation. She sipped at a glass of wine set in front of her.  </p><p>‘I believe in people, mother.’ She raised her voice. <em> I won’t have her lecture me in the nature of people when she’s affronted the Gods at every possible chance. ‘ </em>I will not treat my people like cattle. Let’s come back to this tomorrow. Goodbye my Lords, Mother.’  </p><p>Bristling at her mother’s nerve at suggesting such cruel treatment of the poor, Myrcella started out of the council chamber quickly. She had the intention of visiting the gardens for some fresh air before returning to her duties and letters.  </p><p>‘Myrcella?’ Her mother’s voice cut through her peace and sent a vile sensation through her.  </p><p>‘Yes?’ She replied coolly.  </p><p>‘You will do as I say. You don’t understand our position.’  </p><p>‘I am Queen, mother. I understand perfectly well.’ She went to walk on but a hand shot out and painfully latching around her arm. She tried to pull free but Cersei didn’t relent.  </p><p>‘There is something you have to see.’  </p><p>Cersei marched them back into the keep and around the winding corridors. Myrcella tried to track where they were going but they were moving too quickly. At last they stopped before an iron door, which a guard let them through with a bow, and they continued inside. When Myrcella’s eyes adjusted to the darkness she realised she’d been taken to the dudgeons, deep and black and infinite.  </p><p>For a moment she felt her heart beat hard in her chest and her breathing became more strained. <em> Does she mean to lock me down here like a common thief? Once I could suspect her of such a thing – but now- </em> </p><p>She wasn’t locked away in a cell and instead she was taken further down into the bowels of the castle to the second floor of dudgeons. This floor was darker, damper and colder than the first. Cersei held a lamp in front of them and kept walking to the end of the cells. She stopped before the second to last and passed the lamp over.  </p><p>‘Look inside.’  </p><p>Myrcella held it up to the rusted bars, squinting. The warm light had fallen upon a bundle of clothes in the cell, a bundle of clothes that rose and fell with each breath. She pushed the lamp right against the bars to get a better look. She could see dark hair surrounding a round face but their eyes were shut and most of their features were obscured by a rag covering.  </p><p>‘Arianne Martell.’ Her mother answered her questions plainly. ‘The little Dornish slut was hatching some foul plot so we kept her here for safe keeping.’  </p><p><em> Arianne?  </em>Myrcella and Arianne had grown up beside eachother. When her uncle shipped her to Dorne to be betrothed to Trystane, the young princess had only a few years on her and they became fast friends. Arianne had taught her the history of Dorne and their customs. She’d introduced her to the extended Martell family and they’d been eachothers companions when staying at Sunspear together. All this had also allowed the Princess to conduct a romance with her protector, Ser Arys, but Myrcella knew she wasn’t just an excuse to be around him.  </p><p>‘Let her go.’ She held her voice, her expression hard as she turned to her mother. Cersei Lannister was <em> smiling. </em>  </p><p><em> ‘ </em>She’s a criminal of the crown. We can’t just let her go. If we do that, anyone will think they can threaten us without justice.’ </p><p>‘Why are you showing me her then? I’ll get her out myself now that I know she’s here. I’ll tell Trystane what you’ve done to his sister. He’s the King.’  </p><p>‘Yes, and I’m just the Queen mother. I’m showing you her because she’ll not be here much longer. Your husband has brought too many of his Dornish friends into the keep and we can’t have them wandering in on the princess. She’ll be somewhere safe, as long as you do as I say and take my advice.’  </p><p>‘And if I don’t, if I tell Trystane?’ Her voice faltered, her mother was looming over her and she’d lost face.  </p><p>‘Then I will kill her. Painfully. I have ears everywhere. You tell him, I will know.’ The smile dropped from her face. ‘And know that I will not stop at Arianne, I will kill your precious husband too, I prefer them dead anyway.’ </p><p>‘You do that, you’ll start a war.’ She clenched her fist and stood as straight as she could in an attempt to appear threatening.  </p><p>Cersei only laughed. ‘Yes, I will. Think of all the death and suffering that will cause. Think long and hard.’  </p><p>‘You can’t do this!’ Myrcella took a step closer and deepened her voice, ‘I am the Queen now.’  </p><p>In an instant Cersei had leapt forward, a coiled spring, and her hand held her jaw, pressing Myrcella against the bars of the cell. ‘I am the Queen. This city is in my pocket. Never forget that.’ She spat out her words, tightening the grip and digging her fingernails into her daughter’s cheeks. Eventually she released her, smiling brilliantly. She seized the lantern back and swept from the room, disappearing up the stairs.  </p><p>Myrcella was left alone in the sheer darkness. She brought a hand to her cheek and rubbed the spots where her mother’s long, slender fingers had held her.  </p><p><em> Come soon, Sansa. I can’t do this much longer.  </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>He’s awake.’ Daenerys Targaryen slipped past her outside the Royal chambers. Such rooms had once been set aside by the builders of Eastwatch, expecting frequent visits from the Kings in the North, or later, the Targaryens. The chamber itself had rarely been occupied and was often ceded to any slightly significant individual passing through. Sansa had opted to remain on the Galley, close to those she trusted, so the warmer, finer tower room was given to Daenerys. In turn the Dragonqueen had let Jon use the bed.  </p><p>The maesters had been in with him first, tending to the deep wound in his shoulder and slowly raising his body temperature. His clothes had been sodden through and frozen – they'd been cracked off with a chisel. Both Queen’s stood vigil while they fell into their work, hands fumbling with hems of sleeves and feet tapping beneath their gowns. The short time they worked on him dragged on like days but eventually the maester stood, bowed to them and gave his verdict.  </p><p>‘He’ll survive. The cold saved his shoulder from infection. He’s lucky it didn’t go any further or he would’ve lost too much blood. I’ve never seen a wound so clean. Oh, to take a look at the weapon that dealt it... anyway. If you’re looking to head back to Winterfell, I’d advice taking him in the ship to White Harbour. By then he should be alright to sit on a horse, or you can find a carriage for him. If he develops a cough, get him to a maester quickly.’  </p><p>Sansa had been listening carefully but her eye had wandered. Behind the maester, she watched Daenerys’ expression. She’d seen the torment in the young woman’s face but now that settled as relief flushed over her. The Queen had begun to fuss over him, straightening the cushions and furs draped across him and lighting nearby candles.  </p><p>‘Will you sit with him a bit?’ She called out after the maester had left them alone. Daenerys had already pulled a chair beside the bed and was hovering nearby. She looked up.  </p><p>‘Are you sure? He’s your brother and-’ </p><p>‘And I fear my words to him will not be well-appreciated. I have arrangements to make and I’ve been meaning to send word to Winterfell.’ That wasn’t entirely true. She’d already tasked Asha with sending a raven to Bran and Arya to let them know when they’d be returning. Her stomach was lurching however and, now that her mind was settled to know Jon was safe, she deemed it a fine time to find something to eat. Sansa left the room with a short bo, before leaving them alone.  </p><p>It was strange to leave her brother with a woman she’d met just hours ago. They had yet to be properly introduced either. The two Queens had met when Daenerys arrived on her dragon and since then had only shared brief conversation while they waited and once Jon had arrived. They were tied together with concern for her brother which had done away with normal formalities and expectations. Such peace wouldn’t last long.  </p><p>She distracted herself with other things, namely, introducing herself to the newcomers that had travelled with Jon.  </p><p>She found them huddled around a single table in the main hall, sipping hot spiced wine. Gendry had joined them too and had perked up substantially since they’d found him collapsed in the snow. She made her way quietly over to the cook, standing over a large pot, and accepted a large helping of stew. She couldn’t tell which meat floated in the thick brown liquid and she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Her stomach still growled however and she knew she was salivating at the thought of finally eating.  </p><p>‘Your Grace!’ Gendry rose as he heard her approach, triggering all heads to simultaneously swing round to face her.  </p><p>‘How’s Jon?’ Tormund was the first to speak after all had bowed their heads. He appeared the most concerned, wringing one of his gloves in his hands.  </p><p>‘He’s fine.’ She smiled, the rest of the room letting out a shared held breath, ‘he’ll be alright to ride soon but he’ll be leaving on the Galley as soon as we can move him. They can ride from White Harbour.’  </p><p>‘They?’ Uma shifted her seat so Sansa could squeeze in at the end of the table. Sansa began greedily sipping at the steaming stew.  </p><p>‘I won’t be joining them. I need to get back to Winterfell as soon as possible.’  </p><p>‘Look at you, little bird. Who would’ve fucking guessed?’ From across the table, Sandor Clegane’s small, dark eyes were fixed on her. He held a swaying tankard in his hand and appeared even worse than she recalled from their last meeting in King’s Landing. ‘Get bored of singing Cersei Lannister’s songs?’  </p><p>‘I did what was needed to survive.’ She replied simply.  </p><p>‘You did a fuck load more than that, so I’ve heard. You killed that little cunt Joffrey and the Bolton bastard too. How did you do that one?’ </p><p>‘Fed him to his own hounds.’ She relaxed and smirked at the memory. He chuckled at that and took a deep swing from his cup.  </p><p>‘Ser Beric Donadarrion.’ The knight beside the Hound raised his hand to her, she took it and he pulled her gently forward to press his lips quickly across her hand. He was far from the handsome man Jeyne had fallen for many years ago. His comely face was now littered with scars and burns and, by the leather eyepatch he wore, he was missing an eye too.  </p><p>‘We’ve met before.’ She admitted, ‘you fought at the Hand’s tourney but we were never introduced.’  </p><p>He shook his head. ‘A great shame.’ His eyes widened for a moment at a realisation. ‘Your father was a good man, your Grace. I made it my life’s work to continue to serve him long after his death.’  </p><p>‘My sister has told me of your efforts. I am forever grateful for the justice you have brought. I know my father would be too. For you and Thoros.’  </p><p>Ser Beric nodded to that but remained silent. The loss of his faithful, slightly drunken red priest was still fresh. She didn’t dwell on it and joined in with their light conversation, mostly consisting of them telling the tale of their journey North and her simply enjoying the hot food.  </p><p>Later she made her return to the Royal chambers. She found Ser Jorah Mormont, not present with the others, waiting outside the door. She took a seat on a bench opposite him, and they sat in silence. She could certainly see the resemblance between uncle and niece. Lady Lyanna and Ser Jorah shared their unwavering loyalties, the little Lady dedicating her House to the Starks and Ser Jorah never far from his Queen. <em> This Mormont will never see me as his niece does. So long as I call myself Queen in the North, he has reason to distrust me. No one can compete against Daenerys in his eyes.  </em> </p><p>The door clicked open and both were startled from their uncomfortable companionship. Daenerys smiled to see them both waiting, her pale skin sporting a slight flush.  </p><p>‘He’s awake.’ She met Sansa’s eyes and they appeared to outshine the candlelight. Taking her knight’s arm, she said nothing more and headed down the tower stairs.  </p><p>‘Sansa!’ Jon was sat up in bed, his face no longer appearing completely drained of blood. She noticed his covers had been shifted to show the bandages covering his shoulder as well as his bare chest, covered in scars she couldn’t explain. His eyes brightened to see her but his mouth offered her only a slight smile, he could feel the tension she purposely brought with her.  </p><p><em> He’s healthy, he’s awake, he’s not on death’s door. That’s all I need to know. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You’re a fucking idiot!’ She started towards him, making no effort to hide her anger, eyebrows raised and jaw clenched.  </p><p>‘Sansa-’ </p><p>‘I mean Gods, Jon? Did someone relieve you of your wits at Dragonstone? Not only did you not wait what would’ve been a few hours to get my consent for your doomed expedition but you conjured this mission yourself for the sake of a single wight. Do you not see how foolish you look, how it made me look?’  </p><p>‘Well your husband certainly didn’t think it was ‘doomed’, neither did Margaery.’ </p><p>Sansa screwed up her nose as she processed her words. ‘Excuse me?’ </p><p>‘They both supported it, your Hand practically sent me here herself. Margaery did stop me from taking the bloody thing south but-’ </p><p>‘What did you say about Tyrion?’ She drew closer to him, taking the seat beside his bed.  </p><p>‘He thought it was a good idea?’ Jon stumbled over his words, his voice rising in confusion.  </p><p>‘Tyrion’s at Dragonstone?’ She could still feel her fire burning within her but she held it back, this was more important.  </p><p>‘He’s Dany’s hand, Sansa. Didn’t anybody tell you?’  </p><p><em> That’s a lot to take in. My brother just called a Queen with two dragons by a nickname, Tyrion’s her hand and no one has seen it reasonably to tell me this.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You’re certain it was him?’ She tilted her head but he only laughed.  </p><p>‘Do you know of any other Lannister dwarves with enough wit to work their way to the side of Queen?’ He reached out for her hand but she pulled sharply away. <em> I’ll deal with that information later.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>This doesn’t excuse you. You overtly ignored my authority for some quest to impress a Queen; don’t tell me that wasn’t why you did it. I know you have more sense that thinking this was actually a good idea.’  </p><p>He sighed, letting his eyes wonder out of the window. ‘It wasn’t just because of her.’ His voice was quiet, sincere. ‘I did it for the North. We need her support and I knew she wouldn’t be convinced easily. I could sit telling her stories for weeks or I could fetch her living proof. I thought we could use it to prove the threat to the South too.’ </p><p>It was Sansa’s turn to laugh. ‘Cersei Lannister wouldn’t give up her forces to aid us. It would have been a complete waste of time and humiliating for us and for Daenerys.’ </p><p>‘But if she saw the wight-’ </p><p>‘You don’t know her the way I do, Jon. She would laugh us at of the city before we opened our mouths.’  </p><p>‘Fine. I’m sorry for almost travelling South.’ He raised an eyebrow, begging forgiveness. She held herself firm. </p><p>‘And for going North?’ </p><p>‘We needed Dany, Sansa! I know it was a risk but-’ He raised his voice slightly, gradually losing his patience with his sister’s insistence that he was mistaken. He moved to raise his hand but breathed sharply through clenched teeth at then pain in his shoulder.  </p><p>‘You could have died. What was I supposed to do if you died?’  </p><p>‘Be a Queen. I’ll have to die one day.’ </p><p>She sat back in the seat, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘Yes. When you’re old in your bed. You’ll have a good wife, a nice set of children to carry your legacy and enough memories for a lifetime. You’re not Robb, or father. They took risks and paid the price but you’ve lasted longer which means you know better. If I had to choose between you and Daenerys Targaryen you know who’d I choose.’  </p><p>‘Even if it cost you the North?’ He managed to take her hands in his with a slight wince.  </p><p>‘I wouldn’t put the North at risk in the first place.’ She looked over him, bruised, scarred and beaten down. She gave his hands a soft squeeze and met his grey eyes. ‘Do you love her? You call her Dany like you’ve known her for years.’  </p><p>He turned away from her to stare into the canopy of the bed. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths. ‘I don’t know.’ He answered, no more than a murmur. ‘She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She has this look in her eyes I- I do believe in her though, as a Queen.’  </p><p>Sansa reached forward and brushed some of her brother’s unruly dark curls from his forehead. Some anger at him hadn’t quite left her but her thoughts were already wandering. <em> Tyrion’s alive. Tyrion’s at Dragonstone. Tyrion’s with Daenerys.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Good thing the people didn’t name you King then.’ She half-smiled.  </p><p>‘Why?’ He cocked an eyebrow.  </p><p>‘A few sweet words from your Queen and you’d bend the knee. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.’ She sniggered a little.  </p><p>He looked up at her, his mouth opened in mock offence. ‘How dare you? Is that all I am to you, a lovesick green boy?’  </p><p>‘No, you’re a lovesick green boy with a death wish.’  </p><p>‘Hmm.’ He grumbled.  </p><p><em> This is the childhood we both missed out on. I hated Jon for bringing dishonour on our family so ignored him as a brother yet also grew jealous of him and Arya. It seems my talent lies in mocking him. I will have to make up for the lost years.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Thank you, Jon.’ She near whispered after his annoyed mirth had cooled down. ‘Don’t ever do it again but I appreciate the risk you took. Especially considering what happened with the Dornish.’  </p><p>‘What happened with the Dornish?’ He raised himself up, face turning serious in an instant.  </p><p><em> Shit, my turn to be the disappointment.  </em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter is already finished so I'll be releasing that one too -I've got wayyy too much time on my hands. Buckle up Jonerys fans...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Dragon's Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Margaery Tyrell was breaking her fast with Tyrion Lannister when Lord Varys interrupted their light conversation. He held a letter in his plump fingers and, like an excitable dog she’d once had, he stood beside them, waiting for their attention.  </p><p>‘Ah, Lord Varys.’ Tyrion didn’t appear to have forgiven Lord Varys for his conspiring with the Queen. He spoke lowly and didn’t look up when he addressed him. The Lord Hand patted his lips with a napkin and shot her an exaggerated roll of his eyes. ‘How pleasant.’  </p><p>‘You have news?’ Margaery asked when the eunuch remained silent.  </p><p>‘From the Queen. Well from two Queens in fact.’ He dropped the letter, dragon seal already broken, onto the table before them. ‘Of course, this mostly only serves to prove what I already knew.’  </p><p>‘Jon?’ Margaery asked in a small voice. ‘And Asha?’  </p><p>‘Alive and well, my Lady.’ Lord Varys continued and Tyrion snatched up the letter and read it through carefully. ‘As is the Queen Daenerys and our Ser Jorah.’ </p><p>‘Sansa met them at Eastwatch.’ Tyrion said aloud.  </p><p>‘Indeed, my ears in Winterfell tell me she was not consenting to her brother’s trip North but it seems he went anyway.’  </p><p>‘I told you she wouldn’t agree.’ Margaery tried her best not to sound like a pleased child but she knew that was how it come out. When Tyrion was finished, she read the letter herself, noticing her own Queen’s signature flowing at the bottom. ‘They’re going back to Winterfell.’  </p><p>‘Would’ve left by now. If you see at the end, we’re to travel North too, with the Unsullied.’  </p><p>Margaery couldn’t say she wasn’t pleased at the thought of leaving Dragonstone behind. The wind was always too high to go outside and the rest of the castle was too bland for her to fill her time with anything but reading and trying to avoid her grandmother. She was glad to have Tyrion for company, he had some sense at least, but she knew she’d enjoy herself far more at Winterfell, even if it meant travelling back towards the army of the dead.  </p><p>‘We’re to take the fleet to White Harbour where the Queen will be waiting with Jon Snow.’ </p><p>‘So,’ Tyrion clapped his hands together and rose from his seat. He leant over and finished his honeyed tea and met Margaery’s eyes. ‘I know I’m not one to keep the Queen waiting.’ </p><p>‘Me neither.’ She rose too and cleared their plates onto a single tray. She realised then that, at just the thought of returning North, her heart had picked up speed and she could hear the blood thrumming in her ears. She couldn’t care for making Daenerys Targaryen wait but Sansa needed her and she needed to be back too.  </p><p>‘I shall notify the Unsullied.’ Missandei, Daenerys’ close advisor, had entered in time to hear most of their orders. Margaery couldn’t find fault with the girl. She was an obvious beauty, endlessly loyal to her mistress and well-versed in languages that Margaery had never heard of. She’d walked with the girl from Narth many times and listened well to her stories. A happy girl living peacefully with her brothers, taken and trained to be someone’s tool then placed into servitude for most of her life, before a Queen gave her freedom. The two women had found similarities between their stories and both gained plenty of respect for the other.  </p><p>They also spoke at length about Greyworm, commander of the Unsullied that Missandei had fallen for during their time at Meereen. At first, she only functioned as a go-between for him and her Queen but she’d taught him the common tongue and before long found comfort in his embrace. She’d asked Missandei how she was certain that she felt something for the fighter. She may have been a slave but no one could deny her grace and beauty. Women like her, high up in the royal hierarchy, we’re destined to marry merchants or Lords, not soldiers. Yet, she professed to love him all the same.  </p><p><em> The more I meet with new people, the less I believe a word my Grandmother told me about love and destiny and my life at all. </em> </p><p>They were on the ships and out of the harbour before evening-fall. The Unsullied never lacked in discipline and had soon packed away most of their armoury and marched themselves onto the ships. Margaery had been given a cabin in the command ship with the Dragonqueen’s advisors. Her grandmother, thankfully, had decided the chill wouldn’t do well for her bones and elected to remain at Dragonstone. Margaery had feigned disappointment but left merrily, glad to see the back of that awful stone island.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Jon Snow! Half of us thought we’d never see you again.’ Lord Wyman Manderly welcomed them when his own ship pulled into White Harbour. Jon had made it down the gangplank himself and strode, his arm strapped across himself, towards the beaming Lord.  </p><p>‘I didn’t think you would either.’ He smiled, letting Manderly place his heavy hands on his uninjured shoulder. His arm was healing quickly, thanks to the cold that prevented infection and he showed no signs of illness that would raise an alarm. He’d been out of bed on the second day of the sail South and took many turns about the deck, making conversation with Asha Greyjoy as she navigated through particularly harsh winter storms. He never feared for the Galley though. The woman knew what she was doing and enjoyed the challenge the rough waters presented. ‘What are you doing back here then.’ Jon hadn’t envisaged the great Lord remaining long at Winterfell but he knew he had to ask.  </p><p>‘Ah. I left my sons and daughters up there to help the Queen and keep the men in line. Me though? I don’t think they’d find a use for me other than taking up space and eating my way through the larder.’ He chuckled, his jowls moving of their own accord. ‘Jon,’ he leant forward and hushed his voice, ‘you must introduce me to the Lady.’  </p><p><em> Shit, I’m bad at this.  </em>He knew Dany had followed him from the ship to be introduced to the Lord of White Harbour yet he’d just as a quickly forgotten the formalities he was expected to proceed with.  </p><p>He coughed and held out a hand to the Queen, she took it, keep her mouth straight, and allowed him to present her to Lord Manderly.  </p><p>‘May I introduce Daenerys Targaryen. Rightful Queen of the South.’ He wasn’t as well practised at reading off her titles as Missandei was. He knew there were several more to list but they escaped him. Those were the names that counted. ‘Daenerys, this is Lord Wyman Manderly, his men fought beside me at Winterfell.’  </p><p>Manderly took her hand and ghosted his lips over it. ‘It is a pleasure, your Grace. Although, you must know I’ve already bent the knee-’ </p><p>‘To Queen Sansa,’ said Daenerys, ‘I know, my Lord. I respect your decision.’  </p><p>‘Well that’s marvellous,’ he chuffed. ‘Your ships haven’t arrived yet but when they do, we’ll have horses and supplies for you to take up North. Ah Lady Asha.’  </p><p>‘Wyman!’ Asha Greyjoy met the Lord as she jogged towards them. ‘Couldn’t take the cold?’  </p><p>‘I thought I’d lost some of my toes at one point.’ He took the Kraken’s arm and their small group followed him inside where a small feast of smoked fish, fresh from the last fishing boats of the season, was laid out for them.  </p><p> </p><p>After they had gorged themselves on the full arrangement of seafood, the company of three took themselves to the chambers set out for them. Jon fell upon his bed, not thinking about his shoulder, just grateful for the feather bed and the floor that did not sway beneath his feet. He stretched himself out, still in his cloak and boots and let his eyes drift shut.  </p><p>He dreamt of dragons. First, he saw the three children of Daenerys, soaring high above him as he watched from the cliffs of Dragonstone. He remembered the day well; Dany had stood beside him as he watched, telling the story of how she came to travel with such stunning creatures. He called them beasts and she’d taken great offence. He now knew he was wrong. They were monstrous and terrifying but he couldn’t deny the elegance in their flying and the beauty in their iridescent scales.  </p><p>When he turned to see the Queen behind him, he found himself completely alone. Instead, a fourth dragon flew down from the clouds, spreading its great wings above him. The others looked up to the newcomer and bowed their heads mid-air. This one was pure white but, even from afar, he recognised its violet eyes gleaming from the slits either side of its face. The she-dragon swung low along the water, dipping the end of one wing into the sea and letting a spray cast a high arch behind her.  </p><p>He wished to be flying beside her, he reached out towards the dragons enjoying the sunlight, impervious to the bitter winds that clung to the island. His feet moved on their own, taking him to the very edge of the cliff. He stepped on leg out. Then another.  </p><p>The sensation of falling had woken him from his dream. He glanced towards his window, breathing hard, to see the night had fully descended upon the sleepy port. He pushed himself from his bed, relieving himself of his cloak and jacket, and unlocked the window. The wind at White Harbour was far less strong that at Dragonstone. Its fingers caressed his face as he pushed his head out, cooling his forehead and bringing his breathing back down to normal. After a few minutes he inhaled the cool, crisp air deeply, worried that it would slip away, and made his way back towards his bed in the darkness.  </p><p>He pulled off his boots then stripped down to his underclothes. Carefully, he touched the area where the Night King’s sword had swung through his shoulder. It had been tender but now it felt as strong as it had before. Whatever potions and poultices the maesters had slathered on him at Eastwatch had done their duty.  </p><p>He crawled beneath the furs and closed his eyes once more, willing himself to be taken back to the cliffs of Dragonstone to watch the dragons. They were calling out to him, he knew that. <em> It’s only right that I answer it.  </em>He knew he couldn’t fly like them and that stepping from that height meant certain death but something else told him he had to do it anyway. The word ‘fate’ bounced around his mind.  </p><p>For at least an hour, he lay there, tossing and turning, squeezing his eyes shut. At times he tried to immerse himself in the dream without being asleep but he couldn’t grasp the feeling and he couldn’t make it feel real, like the dream did. Otherwise, he tried to clear his mind of everything at all but that was just as impossible. His mind soon flew around Westeros and worries began to pile on top of him, suffocating him as he lay still, stuck.  </p><p><em> Some wine will let me sleep.  </em> </p><p>He hadn’t seen any when he entered the room and, in the darkness, he knew he’d miss a whole crate of wine even if it sat next him. He decided a walk might also do him some good- help him truly clear his mind. He pulled his cloak back on and fastened it at the nape of his neck. Hiding his lack of clothes beneath. He looked towards his swordbelt, discarded on a seat and shook his head. <em> I’m safe enough.  </em> </p><p>With soft steps, he pushed open the door and slipped into the dark corridors of the keep. On the wall, a sconce was still lit. He lifted it from the wall and began his decent towards the kitchens.  </p><p>His way was swift and uninterrupted. In the silence broken only by his own padding, he could almost hear the slow, rhymical breaths of sleeping castle. Not a soul stirred so he went on and soon made it to the kitchens. When inside, he set down the torch on a wall and searched for a supply of wine. He knew Manderly probably had an extensive cellar full of Arbor reds and Dornish vintages but he didn’t know where he’d find such a place. Instead he settled for a red stored with the food. He stole it away, along with a cup and, picking up his torch, fell back into the darkness.  </p><p>When he reached his chamber, he found his feet moving of their own accord once more. They weren’t stepping off a cliff edge but passed the door to his room and further along the corridor. A different call was urging him and he wandered, silently, towards its source.  </p><p><em> This is not a good idea.  </em> He knew it well yet he kept moving forward.  <em> I am stepping off the cliff. I am dooming myself.  </em> A voice inside his head told him otherwise. ‘ <em> You might just fly. Don’t you want the chance to fly?’  </em>He paused and thought for a moment, his hand slowly reaching out towards the door before him.  </p><p><em> I want to fly.  </em> </p><p>He knocked.  </p><p>‘Jon?’  </p><p> </p><p>Daenerys Targaryen hadn’t stopped crying since she sat down upon her bed. Before the door had fully closed behind her, her eyes began to well and she let it come. It was long overdue.  </p><p>She’d watched her child fall from the sky. She’d seen the spear that caught it stick from his underbelly. She heard the deafening slap of his limp body as he hit the ice, soon dropping into the water and away from her forever. She thought she was going to cry then. She thought she’d lash out at the Night King in her fury. She thought she’d feel something.  </p><p>Instead she only felt the bodies piled up on Drogon’s back behind her. She felt their eyes upon her and the eyes of Jon still fighting his way through the wights. She hadn’t cried but her heart ached in mourning.  </p><p>Back at Eastwatch, she’d been distracted by Jon for long enough. The pain built within her but she pressed it down, focused herself on caring for him then planning their next moves with Sansa Stark. She still couldn’t cry.  </p><p>On the ship South she thought it would be the time for her to release everything she’d held onto. The walls were thin, Jon’s cabin was next to her own and half the crew alongside him would hear her if she dared make a sound. It was becoming more difficult to force it down. The pain had become agonising, her cries were morphing into screams. Her tears would fill the oceans when they came.  </p><p>Finally, she found herself alone. In the old halls, she knew the stone would mask any sound she made. She gave her best false smiles with the Manderlys and excused herself as soon as she could. She never made the decision to relieve herself of the pressure but it came all the same. The tears came like an eruption from within her. Her fingers clung to the sheets as her body was rocked by the sobs that refused to relent. At times she made no sound but screamed silently at everyone who had taken those she loved away. She thought she would never stop. </p><p>At once, she did.  </p><p>She found herself perched on the edge of her bed, sniffing but breathing deeply. Her mind had cleared and she couldn’t say what she was thinking off. She threw herself back onto the bed and stared upwards into the canopy.  </p><p>‘My child is dead.’ She whispered to the darkness. ‘But I am alive. Two of my children are still alive. Jon Snow is still alive.’ She sat up at that. She hadn’t meant to group him with her and her dragons but his name had fallen naturally from her lips. She spoke his name again, concentrating on the way her tongue and mouth moved as she said it. She hoped it would send her to sleep. An hour later she was still laying, unmoved, mouthing his name like a prayer.  </p><p>At the door, a knock woke her from her trance. She picked up a lantern still burning with a flickering candle, and hesitantly turned the doorknob.  </p><p>‘Jon.’ She breathed. It was like her prayers had been wishes and some benevolent God had brought him to her. <em> It’s not like I want him here. It’s late. He was just on my mind.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Dany.’ He sounded as struck by their strange situation as she was. She examined him by the firelight. He wore his thick cloak but it had spread apart at the bottom,  revealing  the thin linen of his under clothes. He was holding a torch in one hand and a bottle of wine with two glasses in the other.  <em> Two glasses? Is that what he’s here for? To drink? </em> </p><p>She raised an eyebrow, hoping for explanation but he offered none. He’d followed her gaze to the bottle and glasses in his hands, himself seeming shocked by their appearance but he returned to her eyes with resolution. In the light, his grey eyes were steel. His dark hair tumbled across his head and fringe and the bags beneath his eyes were deep. She said nothing. She moved aside.  </p><p>No sooner had she shut the door gently behind him, the wine had been set down and she felt hands ghost at her hips. Trembling slightly, the hands seized her and spun her round. She found herself inches away from Jon Snow. She exhaled shakily. He pressed one hand to her cheek and she felt warmth flare up where his palm had touched. She took a careful step forward, pressing her body against his. His eyes met hers, a question unspoken on his lips. She answered it for him, tilting her head slightly and pressing her lips onto his.  </p><p>She’d meant to be chaste, to pull away like a nervous child and take each step slowly. Instead, she felt his mouth move against her own and her hand snaked into his hair, holding onto a handful of his curls. In turn, the hand at her hip moved up to rest at her waist and his other caught the back of her neck, pulling her deeper towards him. At the movement, a small sound escaped her lips. His fingers shot fire up and down her back. With her lips slightly parted, he moved his lips harder against hers and she only returned in like. Something was burning in her chest, urging her on as they moved at a fevered pace, hands running down each-other’s clothes, lips tasting, breaths hitching.  </p><p>Daenerys moved her free hand upwards and began fumbling with the ties holding his cloak together. Eventually, her trembling fingers found the catch and she smiled into the kiss at the sound of material falling to a heap on the floor. Her hand found its way to his chest, only covered by thin fabric and she felt his hand that rested at her waist begin to creep upwards. She pulled away.  </p><p>He stammered for words as he opened his eyes to find her bright eyes staring back at him. She smiled to assure him he’d done nothing wrong. Her fingers had grazed along the line of the bandages beneath his underclothes. Never dropping her eyes from his, she reached down and grasped the hem of his night shirt. Slowly, she raised the material over his head and over his raised arms. When it too landed on the floor, she took the time to drop her eyes to his now bare chest. He was as well built and toned as she had expected from a trained fighter and a brother of the Night’s watch. She’d seen his chest at Eastwatch, she’d counted each scar in her head and her eyes had wandered to the lines of his body leading below the covers. Now her fingers traced each scar, soon replaced by her lips as she pressed them against each pink slice. She finally reached his shoulder.  </p><p>Concentrating hard, trying not to hurt him, she took hold of the end of the bandages and began unravelling them. He watched her at work, never saying a word. When she reached the end, she let the white linen flutter out of her hands and turned her attention to the great wound at his shoulder. It had been two weeks since he’d fallen at her feet at Eastwatch so the wound was no longer a wound but a fresh scar, healed over but making his skin appear stretched and inhuman. Her finger drifted over the outline. When it first made contact, he inhaled sharply and pulled away. She jumped back to apologise but hit him instead when she found him laughing above her. She returned to her work, her finger marked the cut of the sword whilst her eyes lingered over the rest of his body.  </p><p>She brought her attention back to his face, offering her lips upwards for a brief kiss before turning around. He paused for a moment but she guessed he soon took her meaning as he began untying the laces of her gown. After untying the last, his hands shifted to her shoulders and he pushed the dress off, leaving her in her soft silk shift that clung to the curves of her body. His hands rested on her exposed shoulders and she shivered at his touch.  </p><p>Her in the shift and him only in linen breeches, she turned back to him. They stood in silence for some time, regarding eachother, breathing heavily. She knew he was thinking the same as her. <em> I will regret this in the future. I am more than this. This has to be a mistake.  </em> None of her doubts could sway her.  <em> I am Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Westeros and if I want Jon Snow? No one in the realm can stop me.  </em> </p><p>She pushed him to the bed.  </p><p> </p><p>Sansa paced the floor of her chambers. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her hands were tied behind her and her crown sat unevenly upon her head. She knew she looked a strange picture, dressed in her finest winter gown, her hair delicately braided out of her face, dagger at her hip and silver on her head but red in the face and flustered, pacing before Brienne of Tarth on the edge of a bed. Neither had said much as she walked, Brienne not wanting to interrupt her train of thought. <em> That would very considerate if I was having a train of thought.  </em> Instead her mind was racing at her with all her thoughts at once.  <em> The Queen is arriving today. Tyrion is arriving today. </em> </p><p><em> Tyrion- </em> </p><p>She’d been perfectly content before a runner from the camp came to them with the scout’s report of dragon banners in the distance. The Unsullied were marching closer, two dragons were flying towards the keep. It was like being struck in the heart. Everything she thought she’d been preparing for since she returned home hit her at once and with it, every possible worry she could conjure.It wasn’t like she hadn’t met the Dragonqueen before but now their meeting would be public and formal which meant everything could still go wrong. At least she’d been glad to find the castle still standing upon her return and no incidents of note. Everything else plagued her for the next few hours while she readied herself and the castle sprang to sudden life.  </p><p>There was a gentle knock of metal at the door. Jaime Lannister stepped inside. ‘Your Grace.’ He was wearing his finest clothes. He’d left his fine armour, the gold and the white, behind when he fled, bringing only simple pieces of plate with him, but he had packed a deep red doublet embroidered in vines of gold and breeches also the colour of deepest wine. Even Sansa had to admit, with his dark blonde hair and darker still beard, the glowing Lannister twin still knew how to shine as much he did when stood at Cersei’s side. Brienne looked to greet him but failed to turn away as he entered. Sansa caught her staring and fought to concern a smile. ‘We should head down to the courtyard. They’re in Wintertown.’  </p><p>She had stopped walking but her hands had taken over, fiddling endlessly. She inhaled deeply and nodded. She had to make an appearance, no matter how much she dreaded it. <em> But I don’t dread seeing Daenerys, especially now that I know she doesn’t want me dead. I look forward to seeing Jon and Margaery.  </em> </p><p><em> That only leaves Tyrion.  </em> </p><p><em> Why should I fear seeing him again?. I thought he was dead. I should be bouncing from the walls, riding down to the town myself to greet them.  </em> </p><p>She dropped her hands, brushing over her dress as she did so, and let out a shaky breath. As she turned to step towards Jaime, she caught a flash of her reflection on a mounted mirror. She stepped towards it.  </p><p><em> I must look so different to the person I was in the South. I certainly feel different.  </em> She quickly pulled off one of her gloves and brought her hand to her face. Her fingers gently ran across the seared skin. The burns had healed since shed first seen them but the flame’s tongue had left pink scars across her cheek and now her neck that would never fully leave her.  <em> Could he hate me for it- cast me aside for the ugly lines and bumps that were once smooth, unblemished skin? Not Tyrion, he couldn’t be so shallow,  </em>she tried to convince herself as she looked away from her reflection and replaced her glove. She righted the crown on her head and stalked towards the door.  </p><p>Jaime held the door for her and then fell in beside Brienne as they passed through the halls towards the courtyard. She chose not to think of whatever was lying ahead and instead focused on the two walking behind her. She was certain something had happened between them in her absence but, when she pried for information, both had seized up and denied anything. Brienne blushed a deep scarlet when his name was mentioned and Jaime had taken to tap his leg if she was brought up in conversation. They never showed it when together, she’d noticed. In the council they sat far enough apart, but not too far, to quell suspicions. <em> They’ll tell me soon enough, or I’ll see it for myself. Either way, I suppose copious  </em> <em> quantities </em> <em>  of wine are in order.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Sansa!’ Tormund  Giantsbane  was waiting with the assembled Lords and Ladies in the courtyard of Winterfell.  <em> Are we here already?  </em>Alongside him, Uma Reed was speaking in a hushed voice with a giggling Lyanna Mormont who stood beside Wylis Manderly, left behind by his father to fight. Ahead of them, Sansa found Bran seated, Meera to his right and Theon Greyjoy to his left. When she appeared, they parted and Sansa found her place beside her brother, Brienne taking her other side with Jaime next to her and Theon on Bran’s right.  </p><p>‘Where’s Arya?’ She searched the courtyard filling up with bodies, mostly the servants of Winterfell.  </p><p>‘No idea, your Grace. Wasn’t in her chambers.’ Ser Davos joined them from the archway to her left. He rubbed his hands together in the cold and found a place near Tormund Giantsbane. While she was looking towards him, she noticed, looking over them from above, the Red Priestess Melisandre, the red ruby at her throat glowing particularly bright.  </p><p>The gates ahead had been thrown open and she could see the lines of her men stretching out into the distance. She reached upwards and straightened her crown on her brow once more, bringing her gloved hands together in front of her. They waited. She tapped her foot on the cold stone beneath her gown. She looked down upon herself for a final inspection. She’d chosen a deep grey dress, with red direwolfs running across her hem. Across her top she wore a black leather jerkin, made up of fish scales. The cloak on top was a matching black with a soft grey fur lining that she wanted to sink back into. She rooted herself to the spot. Her thumbs bobbed. Brienne was tapping her sword belt. Bran was completely still.  </p><p>‘Come on Sansa.’ Her mother’s voice rang in her ear. She scanned the faces around her but Catelyn Stark was not among them. ‘You afraid of meeting with a dwarf? With your own husband?’  </p><p><em> I’m not afraid,  </em> she thought in return. <em>  I’m the Burned Wolf of Winterfell, not much can scare me.  </em> </p><p>‘What are you then, if not scared?’ </p><p><em> Nervous, anxious, killing myself over every last detail because I want this moment to be perfect, this meeting of two Queens. I know that part will go well but if Tyrion arrives and he hates me-  </em> </p><p>The sound of hooves upon the snow brought her to her senses and drove Catelyn Stark from her head. Two great horses turned the corner and pulled into the empty space in the courtyard. Daenerys rode on a grey steed and Jon on a deep brown. Standing so tall, she didn’t believe she’d seen too people look so powerful. They rode in step beside each other and Sansa noticed her brother give the Southern Queen a quick encouraging look before they both dismounted to either side and approached. Behind them, a wheelhouse entered the yard. She could guess who was inside.  </p><p>‘You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, first of her name. Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt Breaker of Chains, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady of Dragonstone.’ To either side of Jon and Daenerys two more riders approached, having dismounted. The first Sansa knew to be Ser Jorah Mormont who had travelled with Jon across the wall. The other, who had laid out her Queen’s many titles was unfamilar to Sansa. She was dressed in a similar thick gown and cloak as the Dragonqueen, also bearing her dragon sigil at her breast. She had the dark skin of the summer isles and a slight accent she hadn’t heard before.  </p><p>‘You stand in the presence of Sansa, of House Stark, first of her name. Burned wolf of Winterfell and Lady of the Keep, Queen in the North.’ Brienne Stepped forward and addressed them </p><p>‘Queen Sansa.’ Daenerys took the lead as she approached, taking Sansa’s hands in her own and bowing her head slightly. Sansa did the same.  </p><p>‘Queen Daenerys.’ She gestured to the keep walls. ‘It is an honour to welcome to my home, Winterfell. This is my brother Bran-’ She began the introductions, circling round those closest to her. By the time she’d almost finished, Arya had pushed herself through and was given her introduction as well. When Sansa finally presented Jaime to the Targaryen Queen, she noticed her stiffen and her lips close into a taught line. Daenerys was staring towards the Lannister with the strange intensity as Sansa had found her looking out on top of the wall.  </p><p>Sansa wasn’t paying much attention; she’d kept the wheelhouse in the corner of the eye while they’d been speaking, just waiting for one of the doors to be opened. <em> Or would it be better if it stayed shut forever? I’ll never know if he hates me if he stays in there. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Margaery!’ The silence that had fallen as Dragon and Lion looked over one another was broken by a pair of horses pushing up the hill. The Lady Hand quickly threw her legs over and, dignified as ever, walked quickly over to the throng, Asha Greyjoy close on her heel.  </p><p>She took the Tyrell into her arms quickly before stepping back. She felt her stomach lurch at looking away from the wheelhouse for even a short while. Any moment a leg would step out. Margaery took her place amoung the Northern Lords and nodded to the Dragonqueen who had relented in her examination of Jaime and returned a smile lined with bitterness. d a  </p><p>‘You’ve met Ser Jorah.’ She spoke after a few moments.  </p><p><em> Yes, but we never exchanged a word.  </em> </p><p>Behind her Lady Mormont pushed to the front, her mouth exploding in a torrent of words and curses. Sansa tuned out, she heard the creak of a door opening. The wheelhouse door swung open and a leg indeed stepped down onto the stone. She released a breath, it was a large leg and clothed in a long, salmon pink robe. It could only belong to one person she knew and that certainly wasn’t her husband.  </p><p>‘Lord Varys.’ She smiled. It had been many years since the eunuch and her had their last meeting together beneath the Heart Tree. The Spider had been dressed as an old Northern woman then too. Little else had changed about the old Master of Whsipers. He was still floating in a cloud of fragrance and his bald head remained as round and well-polished as a marble.  </p><p>‘Your Grace.’ He bowed dramatically, letting his words hang in the air. He rose and met her eyes. ‘It is a pleasure to see you once more and in much better position.’  </p><p>‘The same to you too, my Lord. It is good to see you without a wig and dress.’ She returned quickly. She knew Varys wasn’t to be trusted and was often in league in court with figures such as Littlefinger but she couldn’t resist feeling grateful for all that he had given her. Just by gifting her his little birds, he’d handed her a crown on a plate.  </p><p>He chuckled his high and airy laugh, pressing her hands in his own.  </p><p>‘A wig and a dress?’ A voice called. ‘I’d say that might be an improvement, Lord Varys.’  </p><p>The perfumed Lord had noticed the colour as it quickly drained from her cold-flushed cheeks. He stepped to the side. <em> I wasn’t paying attention to the wheelhouse.  </em> </p><p>‘Tyrion...’  </p><p> </p><p>‘A cup of wine, my Lord. You look uneasy.’ The wheelhouse rattled two and fro and they passed through the town sitting neatly below Winterfell. Tyrion had peeked behind the curtains several times and each time pulled away, growing ever more surprised at the sheer number of people lining the streets. Lord Varys reached forward with a cup in his pale hand.  </p><p>‘No thank you.’ He held up a hand to dismiss him, he was still watching the town drift backwards as they neared the keep. He’d ridden most of the way from White Harbour but Lord Varys had insisted he shared his carriage for the final stretch of their journey. He was at least glad to escape the sharp winds but the constant bumping and lurching made riding a horse much more appealing. They’d spent most of their time in silence but the Eunuch had suddenly become excitable and keen on starting a conversation.  </p><p>‘When was the last time you came this far North?’  </p><p>‘When Ned Stark was named Hand of Robert Baratheon.’ He replied, bored. Varys knew this well enough. Chances are he was trying to draw some parallels between the Baratheons seeking out the Starks and the Targaryens doing the same. He didn’t care for such riddles. <em> This is different. It has to be. If not, we’re all doomed. </em> </p><p>‘I wonder if it’s changed much since then. It’s swapped hands enough.’ He mused; his sweet smile ever-present on his round face. Today, the perfumed Lord smelt of lilac and honey. Tyrion had wrinkled his nose when the door of the wheelhouse closed behind him. Trapped in the small space with the pungent smells was dizzying. His head only spun more as they neared the keep. His stomach was twisting in knots too but he doubted that was from the heavy aromas.  </p><p>The carriage levelled and Tyrion moved back towards the window, peeling back the deep red curtains. They were just pulling under the portcullis, blue and grey direwolf sigils fluttered from every wall. <em> So, this truly isn’t a joke.  </em> Some deep part of him had doubted all the stories Margaery spun about his wife’s adventures since they’d parted ways. He found it difficult to picture the frightened girl leading an army to war, attacking Moat  Cailin  and fighting in battle. He had believed the other tales. Of Sansa winning the support of the Northern Lords, of her securing her place first  amoung  them, and then as their Queen. He could picture her as the Lady of Winterfell but as  <em> Queen </em>? He was pleased for her, of course, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much she must have changed from the girl he knew to fill her brother’s boots.  </p><p>‘Not planning on leaving the cart?’ Varys’ hand was reaching for the handle of the door but Tyrion had yet to even notice they’d pulled to a halt. He balled his fingers into a fist, grimacing out how clammy they’d become.  </p><p>He said nothing. Out in front, he imagined they’d be putting on a show for the crowd. Making introductions, welcoming to hearth and home and so on and so on. He’d been a member of the Southern court long enough to have experienced his fill of such ceremony. <em> Yet, I don’t remember seeing the Stark’s making their introduction when I came North before. Where was I?  </em>It soon came to him. He’d been at a whorehouse back down in the town, enjoying his fill with the Northern girls. He shook the image from his mind. Somehow, the thoughts of his dalliances in brothels across the kingdom no longer brought him the joy and pride they once had.  </p><p>‘The Queen will be wondering what we’re doing in here.’ Varys’ voice rose in his sing-song voice. Tyrion only growled in response. He wanted to go out and see the Northerners in the lines, he wanted to see his Queen make her real debut. There was no honest reason that he should barricade himself inside a wheel house and hide from Winterfell. <em> Well, there’s one reason.  </em> </p><p><em> It is quite impossible to avoid her forever. Even If she weren’t Queen, Sansa remains my wife and completely ignoring her for our stay here may put a dampener on our happy, happy marriage. I do not fear her, how could I? Then there is nothing holding me back from taking hold of that door and walking out.  </em>He stayed in his seat.  </p><p>‘Go on, my Lord.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘I’ll be along in a second.’  </p><p>Varys nodded, collected his heavy robes and pushed out into the brightness. Tyrion searched the crowds staring back at him through the open door. They were bundled up in layers of grey and black furs, all staring in the same direction. A voice carried on the wind.  </p><p>‘Lord Varys.’  </p><p>He didn’t know how he recognised it so quickly but he knew it in an instant to be the voice of Sansa. Refined and clear, loud enough but not too rough, respectful and polite; dressed up in formality but still hers. Her voice was marginally deeper than he recalled, and sharper. <em> It’s been too long.  </em>He braced himself, slapping his palms against his lap before dropping his legs out of the wheelhouse and onto the stone slabs beneath. He turned to the right. He could only see the back of bodies. He spotted Varys’ long cloak, Daenerys and Jon in the centre of the crowd and Mormont to their other side. The Stark’s and their allies had to be ahead of them. He began in that direction.  </p><p>‘It’s good to see you without a wig and a dress.’  </p><p>Her voice softened at that, finishing her words with a small laugh. Tyrion could only chuckle at the images her words conjured. He was still not close enough to see past the Eunuch’s rotund frame.  </p><p>‘A wig and a dress?’ He let himself be known. ‘I’d say that might be an improvement, Lord Varys.’ </p><p>Lord Varys glanced behind and sidestepped to his left, Tyrion took his place and looked upwards.  </p><p>‘Tyrion-’ </p><p>She was unlike anything he could’ve imagined. Tall and slender as he remembered but now in possession of a full woman’s frame, exaggerated by the belt pulled tight to cinch her waist. As he expected, her neck had somehow extended even longer and it held her head up high. She was regal in every aspect, from her dress embroidered with red wolves to the silver crown circling her brow. His eyes fell upon her face. In the time they’d been apart, her cheekbones and jaw had grown more defined, her sapphire eyes somehow more striking and her lips fuller and inviting. He stood, for some time, entranced. There was something else he hadn’t predicted. Across her left side, covering her cheek and part of her neck, she bore the sign of scorched flesh. Margaery had told him the tale of Sansa’s attempted assassination of Walder Frey and the scar she earnt for her efforts. His mind had travelled to all the gruesome disfigurations she could have gained, he saw her missing a nose like him, losing an eye, unable to speak from once side of her mouth. He pictured her skin taught and discoloured like rot on old vegetables. He pictured her ashamed, wearing a mask to disguise the mistake she’d made.  </p><p>Instead, her scars were flush and pink and far from pretty but they suited her well. The discolouration made her eyes flash an even brighter blue. He understood why they called her the ‘Burned Wolf.’ It was a badge of honour, a sign of a chance taken, a risk for the sake of justice. That was how he’d rationalised the great welt that had opened up his face and stolen half his nose from him. It served to remind others that he, contrary to his size and appearance, had taken up a blade and fought alongside more worthy men. Sansa Stark had charged into a keep with no real training and no one to help her and she got so far as the bloody bastard’s chambers. It was not luck that had gotten her that far and every man who looked upon her face would be reminded of that.  </p><p>Even then, it didn’t offset the rest of her beauty. Her face combined the hardness of her rule with the sweetness of youth and her pleasing frame only deepened the enchanting vision he was faced with.  </p><p>His legs eventually moved him several steps forward, to stand directly in front of her. He reached forward and took one of her hands before bowing deeply, lingering as he bent downwards to draw it out as much as possible. As he raised his head, he brought his lips to her gloved hand and met her eyes for a moment that stretched into years.  </p><p>‘It has been too long, dear wife.’ He kept hold of her hand and she made no attempt to claim it back.  </p><p>Her cheeks were already flushed from the cold but he swore they blazed a deeper crimson as she looked down upon him, holding his gaze. She gave his hand a small squeeze and a familiar, sheepish grin, played on her lips. </p><p>‘I like your beard.’  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Hearts of Men</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some dialogue taken from 8x02</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘I thought you were dead.’  </p><p>‘At times, so did I.’  </p><p>Sansa and Tyrion walked the battlements together. Before either had got the chance to really speak upon the Targaryen’s arrival, Sansa had found herself leading Daenerys inside towards the council chambers. For several hours they remained in there, Margaery and Tyrion stood to the side, whilst Jon and Sansa explained the various defences put in place. She’d been sure she had all her facts straight and could list the men they had, the roles each army had uptaken and the position they would hold when the night fell.  Daenerys remained mostly quiet, listening intently and posing the odd question.  </p><p>When everything was laid out and Daenerys asked for some time alone to consider what else could be done, Sansa sent Jon off to show her to the chamber set aside for the Queen – the same room once inhabited by Robert Baratheon- and she finally found they were alone.  </p><p>She knew a lot needed to be said. They’d both clearly been through a lot just to reach Winterfell in almost one piece yet she wasn’t ready to sit down and have that conversation. <em> How many times will I have to tell that story?  </em>Instead Tyrion, feeling the same, had suggested they took a walk and she led him up the stone steps towards the battlements where they could overlook the courtyard below as it returned to usual.  </p><p>‘I’m glad you’re not though.’ It went without saying but she said it anyway. </p><p>Tyrion chuckled quietly to himself. ‘You may be the only person who is happy to see me alive.’  </p><p>‘Don’t say that.’ She stopped and faced him. ‘You’re Hand of a Queen. Daenerys must care whether you live or die.’  </p><p>‘I think her mind is elsewhere these days.’ His eyes dropped down briefly at that. She cocked her head to one side.  </p><p>‘What do you mean?’ </p><p>‘Your brother.’ He looked back up towards her and raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ll be glad to hear that since I met them at White Harbour, the two of them have barely left each-other’s side. That is what you wanted isn’t it?’  </p><p>She looked away towards the courtyard. <em> Was I so obvious?  </em>At least she could be glad that Jon and Daenerys were close, she knew the alliance between the North and South depended heavily on their courtship.  </p><p>‘In a way.’ She conceded. ‘Although I never expected things to get this far.’  </p><p>‘What do you mean?’  </p><p>‘Well I thought, I hoped that they’d- well- that Jon would <em> seduce  </em>her. I didn’t think they’d actually get further than-’ </p><p>‘Their bed?’ He shook his head. ‘Smartest woman in the realm but cannot understand women.’ He tittered.  </p><p>‘Excuse me?’ The smile that he brought out on her face faded away. <em> I am a  </em> <em> woman, </em> <em>  how can he say I do not understand my own kind.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>I meant no offence.’ He held up his hands in a surrender. ‘But you cannot have thought they’d just fuck once, or maybe a few times, and that would solidify an alliance? You thought Daenerys would trade away her men and dragons for your brother warming her bed?’  </p><p>She scoffed at that. ‘I know my brother. He’s honourable to women. He’d treat her well and...’ </p><p>‘And she’d let her heart rule her head? Would you? If a man ‘seduced’ you and treated you with all the honour in the kingdom, would you hand over your men, the source of your power?’ </p><p>She thought on it for a moment. ‘No.’ She admitted quietly, <em> how did he worm his way in so easily? ‘ </em>How do you know so much about women then?’ She put on a smile to hide the embarrassment she felt clouding over her. He’d barely been at Winterfell today and she was already watching him dismantle all her plans.  </p><p>‘You forget,’ he smirked, ‘I’ve been married twice now and I’ve known plenty of other women beside.’ </p><p>She froze. Her hand curled into a ball. ‘You do not need to remind me about the women you’ve known.’ Her voice dropped, she spat out her words in ice. </p><p>‘Sansa-’  </p><p>‘No, my Lord. I understand your meaning. You’ve lived longer than me, experienced more than me so you are infinitively smarter than me. I am but a poor child scrabbling up an impassable mountain while you stand at the top waving.’ She stalked forward, putting as much distance she could between them. <em> How could I expect some sweet reunion? We are two different people who have lived different lives.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Sansa!’ He fought to keep up behind her but she finally stopped and turned after hearing the command in his voice. She crossed her arms high across her chest and waited.  </p><p>‘Please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t know the Queen in the North could get so <em> jealous </em>.’  </p><p>‘You are mistaken. I am not jealous. I am not the one who spent their life seeking feeling in the arms of whores.’  </p><p>‘No, you are not.’ He examined his shoes once more; his face had fallen. ‘Habits of a lifetime are hard to break, I’m afraid.’  </p><p>‘Well there are plenty of brothels in Wintertown and camp-followers with the men. Take your pick. None could refuse you.’ She couldn’t hide the bitterness if her voice. <em> This is not how I wanted this to go. I didn’t even know I was so affected by his ‘hobbies’.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>I think I’ll stay up here, if you’ll allow it. Those days have long left me.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ was all she could say in return. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean-’  </p><p>‘Yes, you did.’ He turned on his feel and made his way back across the battlements.  </p><p><em> Shit.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>They ate well that night. A small feast had been set up as a welcome to the Dragonqueen. It wasn’t as grand as it could be, Sansa was still weary about their diminishing stores, but there was plenty of fresh game and cups were never dry as they called many toasts. A bard played jovial tunes on his lyre; he had travelled up from White Habour to play at the Royal court. Musicians were a rare sight this far North. Sansa recalled a few making their trips to Winterfell but they were nothing compared to the constant sea of singers and strummers in King’s Landing. This one was talented enough and the wine went down better with his sweet sonatas.  </p><p>Margaery Tyrell drank deeply from her cup and revelled at each refill. She was attempting to keep up with Asha Greyjoy beside her who seemed to have a stomach of solid steel, putting away each tankard of ale like sweet tea.  </p><p>She raised her cup. ‘To my grandmother,’ she began with a small hiccough. ‘And how terrible it is that she could not join us.’ Next to her, Garlan raised his cup comically high and faked a sob as she watched on in delight. She could only imagine how quickly Olenna Tyrell would suck out all joy if she made an appearance that night.  </p><p>‘You really hate her?’ Asha smiled, swilling her drink and picking at a bone.  </p><p>‘She’s a monster.’ Margaery dropped her cup and leant towards Asha. ‘All she cares about is who I can marry and how I can boost our House. She’s married me off twice already to two Kings – one more interested in my brother than me and the other the spawn of incest and hatred. She treats me like a ‘little flower’ when she had an audience but she never gave a shit about me. Good riddance!’ </p><p>‘It’s late, little sister. Let me take you back to your chamber.’ Garlan stood and held out his arm to her.  </p><p>‘I am the Hand of the Queen.’ She crossed her arms and sat back into a chair. ‘you can’t tell me what to do anymore.’  </p><p>‘Let me.’ Asha Greyjoy now stood as Garlan fell back, defeated. She held out her arm and, when their eyes met, launched a wink in her direction.  </p><p>‘Fine.’ She stood dramatically and took the offered hand. ‘Good night your Grace!’ She called to the top of the dais where Sansa was invested a deep conversation with Tyrion Lannister. She huffed as her Queen waved to her, and made her way out of the hall. Asha’s hand soon became her arm as Margaery nearly fell down three steps.  </p><p>Eventually, with some stumbling, they made their way to the Margaery’s rooms and Asha sat her down on the bed, turning to leave.  </p><p>‘You know, she was already talking about marriage again. I left Highgarden because it was the first thing she said to me when we were alone. I thought she would ignore it at Dragonstone but as soon as I perked up, she started at it again.’ Margaery flung herself back on the bed.  </p><p>Asha sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, tankard still in hand. ‘I thought all your ladies wanted to do was marry a handsome man and have thousands of sprogs.’  </p><p>‘I used to.’ Margaery sat up, curling her legs beneath her under her skirts. ‘But I didn’t want to do it to get a husband. I thought as my grandmother did- I wanted to marry a King and be Queen. For a time, I didn’t care who it was that I stood beside, as long as I had a throne to sit on and a crown in my hair.’  </p><p>Asha took a swig. ‘You don’t want to be Queen?’  </p><p>‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I won’t do it through marriage again. I refuse.’ She reached for the drink but Asha pulled away. ‘You wouldn’t understand. Ironborn aren’t so fussed about marriage are they? Gods, I wished that were me. I could be a captain like you and a Queen at the same time.’  </p><p>‘You hate sailing.’ Asha smirked, setting down her tankard out of her reach. </p><p>‘I didn’t hate it when <em> you  </em>were the captain.’ Margaery purred, leaning forward. ‘And if I grew up like you, maybe I’d be just as good. The ships don’t matter anyway.’  </p><p>‘Pyke is just as bad as everywhere else I’m afraid.’ Asha leant back on the palms on her hand, casting her eyes of the slightly dishevelled Margaery. ‘You know you’re speaking to a married woman?’ </p><p>Margaery eye’s widened at that and she pulled even closer. ‘You’re married? You never said.’  </p><p>‘’Married’ to some swine back on Pyke, apparently. I managed to stop my father from carting me off but as soon I left the islands my Uncle had me married off. I wasn’t there of course. I would’ve killed the bastard if I was. He would’ve seen my dirk before he could see me undressed.’  </p><p>‘Did you know him?’ Margaery’s voice was small, the news seemed to have sobered her slightly.  </p><p>‘Vaguely. He wouldn’t be terrible but it couldn’t work.’ </p><p>‘Why not?’ Margaery tilted her head and pursed her lips.  </p><p>She narrowed her eyes at her before exhaling deeply from her nose. ‘You’ve heard about Ironborn women who sail with the men?’ Margaery shook her head. ‘They say those women take up the interests of the men they sale with. They are <em> not  </em>wrong.’ </p><p>‘You mean you don’t want your husband because he’s a man?’ She lowered her voice. ‘But you’d marry a woman instead?’  </p><p>Asha looked upwards with a laugh. The canopy was laid with grey material embroidered with the story of the ancient Stark Kings. ‘Aye, if I could. I would.’  </p><p>‘I didn’t even know that people-that you could-’  </p><p>Asha met her eyes which swam with confusion. ‘Answer me this. You’ve never had any of your ladies in your bed for warmth.’ </p><p>‘Of course I have.’ </p><p>‘You’ve never noticed how good they look when they sleep. How fine their hair is or how bright their eyes are? You never wandered what it would be like to be the knights that vye for their attention? You never wanted one to fuck you into another land?’ </p><p>Margaery wasn’t drinking but she choked all the same, her eyes wide in shock. <em> I’ve never thought about any of those things. That would be wrong. My companions were all pretty, fair-mannered, soft of skin and hair and I know they’d do anything for me. But-  </em>She couldn’t think of a thing that would turn her away from any of their comely forms. She’d told herself she wanted a husband, a man to protect her and give her whatever she wanted but her experience so far had severely failed to meet any of her expectations.  </p><p>Her eyes drifted downwards to Asha’s hand that still sat flat on the furs. She could see the bones sticking from her tanned skin and the lines of blue blood weaving through the back of her hand. She thought back to the feeling of those hands atop of her own, completely dwarfing her in their grip as they held the ship’s wheel together. She hadn’t realised how close they’d been standing. She hadn’t thought about the time they’d spent together while Jon found his way into the Dragonqueen’s bed.  </p><p>Her eyes began upwards, taking in every inch of the Kraken princess sitting before her. She was in a man’s leather jerkin and dark breeches and she could guess she was lean beneath. <em> She must have strong arms like the crew she sails with.  </em>She continued up, her eyes grazing over her chest, strapped down by the tight clothes but still giving enough away for Margery’s mind to begin to wander what lay beneath.  </p><p>‘You alright, Marg? I should probably let you get your sleep. Your head will feel like shit tomorrow.’ She went to pushed herself off the bed but Margaery’s hand shot forward and landed on Asha’s. It was almost comical how small and slender her fingers appeared. Asha looked down then towards her face, saying nothing.  </p><p>Margaery eyes had found their place on Asha’s full lips. Men’s lips were slim and shapeless; they never enticed her like they did in the stories. She shifted onto her knees and launched herself forward, closing the space between them. Their lips came together and Margaery knew she felt Asha stir against her, parting her lips slightly to allow them to move together. Margaery went to move her hand to Asha’s waist but the Kraken was too quick and a hand fell on her chest, not to pull her in but to push her away.  </p><p>‘You’re drunk.’ Asha stood abruptly, shaking her head. ‘Go to bed.’  </p><p>‘I-I’m sorry.’ She crawled forward to catch hold of her. Asha brushed her away and left without a word.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Have you spoken to your brother yet?’ Brienne of Tarth sat at the table just under the dais where the Queen and her guests looked out over the rest of the hall.  </p><p>‘No.’ Jaime Lannister responded bluntly, lifting his head back as he cleared the dregs of wine from his cup. When a serving girl came to refill, he placed his golden hand over the top and she scuttled away. ‘I don’t think he wants to talk to me.’ This was the sourest mood she’d seen him in since they were first sent to King’s Landing by Lady Catelyn. He’d seemed unaffected that morning when the Targaryen company arrived but over the course of the day, he’d grown more bitter and less open to conversation.  </p><p>‘Is that why you’re like this?’ She spoke curtly to him.  </p><p>‘Because of Tyrion?’ He chuckled lowly. ‘He’s half hated me all his life. He has every right to go all the way now.’  </p><p>‘Then what is it?’  </p><p>He glanced upwards to dais. Up high, Sansa was speaking with Daenerys Targaryen seated beside her. Her brother took the Dragonqueen’s other side and Tyrion Lannister was next to Sansa. Margaery as Hand should’ve been up there but Brienne noticed the Tyrell had left early. Brienne hadn’t missed the way the new Queen had looked towards Jaime when they were introduced- she'd made no attempt to hide the contempt she still held for the man who killed her father.  </p><p>‘You’re not dragonfood yet.’ She offered hopefully. A glimmer of a smile turned his lips but it didn’t stay. Brienne sighed and looked down at her empty plate. ‘It isn’t right for her to keep you in the dark like this. She’s torturing you. I’ll speak to them.’  </p><p>‘What? Brienne no!’ He reached up an arm to take hold of her but her sleeve was only caught by the cool metal of his hand. Her cursed under his breath as she stormed towards the main table where the two Queens were dining.  </p><p>‘Your Graces, may I have a word.’  </p><p>‘Of course, Lady Brienne. What is it?’ Sansa smiled and gestured for her to speak. The Dragonqueen kept quiet but nodded her acceptance.  </p><p>‘I feel there is bad blood in the air. Between, you, your Grace, and Jaime Lannister. I believe it’s better that things are said before these divisions weaken the rest of us.’  </p><p>Daenerys pursed her lips. ‘Well said, my Lady. Ser Jaime?’ She raised her voice. ‘Come here.’  </p><p>Jaime pushed back his chair with a sharp screech of wood and made his way before them. Brienne watched as he approached and tried to shoot him an encouraging look. He only responded with a scowl. <em> He’ll forgive me when this is smoothed over.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Ser Jaime.’ </p><p>‘Your Graces.’ He bowed, looking between the two crowned women ahead of him.  </p><p>‘Do you deny the murder of my father, King Aerys Targaryen?’ She was blunt, coarse.  </p><p>‘No, I do not.’  </p><p>‘Do you regret what you did?’  </p><p>‘No, I do not.’ He kept his eyes glued to hers.  </p><p>‘Then what is stopping me from giving you to my dragons? The Queen Sansa may have forgiven you but you are still a member of a Southern House- you must face my justice.’ Her arms were folded on the table in front of her but her hands were curled like claws.  </p><p>Brienne looked over the woman as she rose to address him. She was short, compared to even a sitting Sansa, but no one could deny her ferocity or the fires burning behind her eyes. <em> She wouldn’t actually execute him? Sansa wouldn’t allow it.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Your brother has told me much about you. He would have me spare you.’ At that Jaime’s eyes turned to the direction of Tyrion at his place beside Sansa. She watched an exchange unfold between the two brothers, words unsaid but understood. </p><p>Jaime had failed to explain exactly what had occurred between himself and his brother to cause such loathing. He would only tell her that he did something long ago to Tyrion and he didn’t expect to ever be forgiven. <em> And yet he vouched for you to his Queen. That must mean something. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> But he is your brother. I think it would be unwise of me to follow his word alone.’ She straightenedd herself, looking out towards the rest of the hall that had fallen silent. ‘You stabbed my father in the back and cut his throat. You sat on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.’ Jaime looked down.  </p><p>‘You had three children by your sister, the very woman I seek to destroy and yet I am supposed to sit here and trust you, let you lead men? How I can I know you won’t turn on us for her sake the second we come North? How can I know you won’t stab me in the back as soon as it is turned?’ </p><p>He swallowed hard and met the Queen’s eyes that was blazing violet flames. ‘I left Cersei years ago. She poisoned the children we had and everyone else around her. It took getting away to realise that she was controlling me, using me too. All she wants is power. She’s abandoned everything else. I came here because I made an oath to Queen Sansa’s mother; I was forced to make it but I’ve kept it either way. I swore to help her daughters reach Winterfell. I sent Lady Brienne North because I thought that would fulfil my promises but I now know I have to be here and protect her. Winterfell won’t truly be hers with the dead and Cersei still living.’  </p><p>‘You have no loyalty to your house. How can we expect you to be loyal to us?’ </p><p>‘This isn’t about loyalty.’ He briefly shot Brienne a half-smile. <em> Fuck loyalty. ‘ </em>This is about survival.’  </p><p>‘I will vouch for Ser Jaime.’ Brienne stepped forward once again and placed herself beside Jaime. ‘You don’t know me well, your Grace, but Queen Sansa does, I have served her for several years now. Ser Jaime was put into my care by Lady Catelyn when he was sent South. We were captured by bandits on the journey and when they tried to force themselves upon me, Ser Jaime defended me. He lost his hand because of it.’ She noticed the Dragon’s eyes flicker down to his gold hand. ‘Jaime sent me to protect Lady Sansa and then was sent by his sister to assassinate her. When we crossed paths, however, he found the Queen was being held by the Freys, he went to save her, without an encouragement and we two fought together to protect her. I would fight beside him, I would trust him with my life.’  </p><p>She didn’t mention the incident with the bear. Somehow, that moment seemed to personal to share in front of the entire Great Hall.  </p><p>‘I trust Lady Brienne with my life.’ Sansa gave her an approving smile. ‘Ser Jaime has committed crimes against my family before but I have forgiven him and accepted his pledges. And if you are going to execute him for the murder of your father, then you should first allow him the right to execute me. I killed his son, also a king, while the boy slept.’  </p><p>Brienne could see Daenerys lean over and whisper something to Jon. The once Lord Commander said nothing but looked towards his sister and nodded.  </p><p>‘Very well.’ She sighed, ‘but I will not hesitate to have you burnt if I hear a whisper of betrayal.’  </p><p>‘I would expect no less. Thank you, your Grace.’ He bowed his head and turned towards the door, walking quickly through the rows and benches and out of the hall. Brienne nodded to her Queen and the guests before following close behind.  </p><p>‘Jaime!’ She couldn’t see him when she left the hall but she followed the sound of a door swinging shut. She caught the back of him as he passed round a corner.  </p><p>‘You can’t fucking just do that!’ As soon as she turned the corner, his arms covered her shoulders and had pushed her against the wall. ‘She wanted to kill me.’  </p><p>Brienne delivered a sharp kick to his leg and pushed him off her. ‘She would’ve done it eventually whether or not you faced her. At least you had the chance to defend yourself.’ </p><p>‘Maybe I don’t deserve the chance.’ His voice rose. ‘I did all the things she said. I killed her father who I was sworn to protect. I fucked my sister for years and let bastards inherit the throne. I threw Sansa’s brother out of window when he caught us. I fought against Robb Stark and my sister still wants to kill the both of them. I let my brother believe his first wife was a whore just because my father told me to. All three of them have every reason to hate me but they keep forgiving me. Why should they deny themselves justice for my sake?’ He moved to continue walking but she held out an arm.  </p><p>‘I don’t care what you’ve done and neither do they. They’re not forgiving you because they’ve forgotten your crimes but because you had the balls to stop. You had the balls to leave your sister and stand by Sansa. You quite literally broke the habit of a lifetime and they can see that. I can see that. The man Robb Stark captured at the Whispering Wood, the man I met a Riverrun? He had shit for honour. He just wanted to fuck his sister and kill anyone who stood in his way. He was arrogant and cruel and I know because I had to take him South with me.’ She took a breath, never looking away from his green, tired eyes. ‘That man is dead. You killed him when you stopped them from raping me. You killed him when you jumped into that bear pit and you killed him when you let me leave King’s Landing.’ She reached forward and took his cheek in her hands, he flinched at the touch but she held them there. ‘You are not the man Cersei made you. You made yourself and it is that man that they just forgave. They’ve given you a chance and I will not let you squander it in self-pity.’ She hadn’t realised how loud and commanding her voice had grown. She’d been too focused on the smile tugging at his lips as she spoke.  </p><p>‘It wasn’t just me.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have changed if it weren’t for you. Maybe I would’ve left Cersei but I would never be here.’  </p><p>‘None of us would. Sansa would probably be dead if it weren’t for you riding into the Twins. The North owes you their Queen.’ She noticed her hand was still at his face. She didn’t move it. Jaime had gone silent; his eyes were fixed on hers. He reached his good hand back and laid it on the wall beside her head, leaning closer to her. She felt his warm breath rush over her, her own breathing hitched in her throat. <em> How many times have I felt like this since he arrived?  </em>While Sansa had been away at the wall, she and Jaime had spent much of the time together as they continued to prepare for the oncoming dead. A touch of a hand once and a caught eye a few times – she didn’t know where she stood but each time, she felt her face flush and her heart beat erratically beneath her plate.  </p><p><em> He’s just playing with me. He knows the effect he has and he’s mocking me.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Sapphires.’ He murmured, his eyes finally breaking their stare. He pushed off from the wall and continued his way toward his chambers.  </p><p>She remained where she was, pressed against the wall, breathing unevenly, and cursing Jaime Lannister for his evil, horrible mind.  </p><p> </p><p>‘I’d like to say sorry.’ Tyrion caught up with Sansa as she pushed from the room once plates and food had been cleared away and the songs faded. She’d left quickly, not wanting to stay too close to Jon or Daenerys who had been sitting unfathomably close and were prone to constant whispering and laughing at things he couldn’t hope to understand. <em> At least they’re happy.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You don’t need to apologise.’ She smiled as she slowed to let him walk beside her. They’d been talking throughout the meal, mostly telling funny tales and commenting on the Lords and Ladies around them. Things had seemed much better than their earlier conversation but neither had addressed it either.  </p><p>‘I do.’ He said with resolution. ‘It wasn’t fair for me to pit out lives against eachother. You’re younger but you’ve dealt with things I couldn’t even imagine.’  </p><p>‘Thank you but, if you remember, it was I who upset you. Your past is your past, it is not my place to shame you for it. If it weren’t for your past, you wouldn’t be you and I wouldn’t want that.’ </p><p>‘You wouldn’t?’ He looked up, cocking an eyebrow. </p><p>She shook her head firmly. ‘Not at all. You have been good to me as you are. You serve Daenerys as you are.’  </p><p>‘Well,’ he released the tension in his shoulders. ‘I’m glad that’s behind us. I have something for you, if you’ll allow it.’  </p><p>She narrowed her eyes and smiled. ‘Of course, what is it?’ </p><p>‘A surprise.’ He grinned, picking up his speed to walk ahead of her.  </p><p>‘Can you show me here? Is it in your room?’ She soon fell back in beside him. <em> Her legs are too damn long.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Uh no. I have it here with me.’ He paused and looked around. The keep was unusually busy and people were walking in all directions.  <em> Not to mention her guards surrounding us. This is private. ‘ </em>May I show you in your room?’  </p><p>‘Oh-Tyrion-’ A redness crept up her neck as she stuttered.  </p><p>‘Not like that.’ He held up his hands to her. ‘What do you think of me? I’m not your brother.’  </p><p>She laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound but failing miserably. It was a sweet sound and one he rarely heard. She nodded her head and they soon reached her door.  </p><p>She opened the door for him and they entered her solar, a fire already burning in the hearth. He made a line for it, stretching out his hands towards the warmth. As he did that, she pulled two chairs by the fire and carried over a tray of wine. She poured them both a cup.  </p><p>For a moment, he blinked and they were back in King’s Landing. On many nights he’d found himself leant over a book by the fire and Sansa had taken the seat opposite, her nimble fingers fussing over sewing or reading a book herself. In the end they’d always put down their work and enjoy light conversation before giving in completely to the fire and watching until the embers gutted out. Now she was older, as was he, and neither were prisoners as such any more. <em> Yet there’s still enemies surrounding us. We’re both still never safe from my sweet sister or, as it seems, the dead themselves. We look different but we’re the same. These flames burn the same as they did in the Red Keep.  </em> </p><p>‘Your gift.’ He broke the silence. ‘I won’t keep you waiting forever.’ He took a small sip of the wine before reaching into his pocket. Wrapped in velvet, he produced a small package and held it towards her. Brow furrowed in curiosity; she allowed her fingers to gently peel back the material. The silver of the broach caught the light of the fire brilliantly when it was uncovered.  </p><p>‘No-’ She picked it up slowly, looking over it in doubt. Her thumb traced the detail of the direwolf pin. When she turned it over, he watched her eyes fall upon her own name, just as it was when she left it with him.  </p><p>‘You said I should give it to you when you deserved it- when you were a true Stark. I don’t think anyone could argue that it doesn’t belong with you now.’  </p><p>‘You kept it this long? It went East?’  </p><p>He chuckled. ‘I thought it was lost forever but Jaime found it in our chamber and packed it with my clothes. I kept it on me as we travelled and I’ve barely taken it off since. Varys told me it was your father’s hand. I couldn’t lose it.’  </p><p>‘Gods thank you.’ She jumped from her seat and knelt before him, leaning forwards. He moved closer himself and she tucked her arms around his neck, pulling him hard against her as she pressed her head into his shoulder. <em> Her hair still smells of lemons. How does she always smell of lemons?  </em>He couldn’t help but tighten his arms around her too, holding her as close as he could. He heard a sniff and realised she had begun to cry.  </p><p>‘Sansa-’ He spoke softly as she pulled away. He kept his arms on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eye. ‘It is yours. Your father would be beyond proud. You’ve done what no one else has none for centuries.’ He brought his thumb across her cheek and wiped away a stray tear. She giggled in spite of herself which elicited a great grin from him. <em> If I can make her laugh for a lifetime, I’ll be  </em> <em> satisfied </em> <em> .  </em> </p><p>Her eyes widened at once and she turned on her knees, giving him her back. She brought her hands up and he watched as they fumbled with something.  </p><p>‘You should have this then.’ She wheeled around. On her outstretched palm, a miniature lion with a green eye bared its teeth at him.  </p><p>He took a deep breath and pushed back her hand. ‘No, I shouldn’t. Not yet.’  </p><p>She looked between him and the pin. ‘But you’ve come all this way. You crossed the ocean to serve in Meereen. What else can you do?’  </p><p>‘Lions are supposed to be courageous. I’ve done many things but few actually on my own. When I do something, the right thing, on my own accord- then I can wear it with pride.’ She nodded and closed her hand back round it. ‘Where you wearing that under your dress?’ He narrowed his eyes.  </p><p>She looked away from him. ‘It-it’s been my good luck,’ she half-whispered, focusing on the fire. ‘I wore it when I killed Joffrey and every day since. Taking it off felt wrong.’ She shrugged her shoulders.  </p><p>He wasn’t sure exactly what to say. <em> What do you say to the woman who’s been wearing your  </em> <em> sigil </em> <em>  for the past two  </em> <em> years? </em> <em>  What could I possibly say to the woman who wore a lion  </em> <em> sigil </em> <em>  beneath her dress all that time, the same  </em> <em> sigil </em> <em>  of the woman she seeks to destroy, for my sake?  </em> </p><p>He opened his mouth to say anything but words were lost on him. Instead he rose from his seat and moved beside her. Carefully, his eyes fixed on the profile of her face, he pressed his hand on top of hers. She was freezing. She didn’t react to his touch. She didn’t flinch or pull away. She sat there in perfect silence as the fire burnt on.  </p><p>The silence didn’t last long as a rap at the door brought them both to attention.  </p><p>‘Yes?’ She called meekly. She coughed and repeated herself. </p><p>The door swung open and Brandon Stark was wheeled in by his bastard brother. At their entrance, he slowly retracted his hand from hers and stood from the fire to leave. As he did that, he spotted someone else behind Jon, a round boy carrying a large, dusty tome. Beside him, looking as confused as he felt, Arya Stark waited at the door. Bran was pushed further in.  </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Is everything alright?’ Sansa rose to her feet and took a step towards her siblings. She cast a look over the stranger and looked to Jon for an answer.  </p><p>Bran was the one to reply. ‘This is Samwell Tarly. There’s something you need to know.’  </p><p>‘I’ll take my leave. Good night, Sansa.’ Tyrion started towards the door, brushing down his doublet that had crinkled as he knelt.  </p><p>‘You can hear this.’ The youngest of the Starks spoke in his strange, monotonous voice, sounding like a man many times his own age. Jon went to say something but Bran shook his head. ‘He’ll find out soon anyway, it’s best he hears the full tale.’  </p><p>‘And how’s he going to find out?’ Jon asked.  </p><p>‘She’ll tell him.’ Bran nodded towards Sansa.  </p><p>‘I wouldn-’ Sansa went to defend herself but, at the looks shot her way by her family, and Tyrion, she conceded. Chances are she probably would tell him. He knew she’d never been an expert at lying and keeping secrets wasn’t much different.  </p><p>‘Take a seat.’ She pulled more chairs out and they sat themselves around the fire. Without thinking, Tyrion placed himself at his wife’s side. ‘What’s this about?’ </p><p>Bran had been pulled between two seats. He raised his hand towards the round boy and began. ‘This is Samwell Tarly. He-’ </p><p>‘And Gilly.’ Samwell interrupted. ‘Gilly was the one who found it really.’  </p><p>‘He <em> and Gilly </em> have found something you might want to hear. Samwell?’ </p><p>The lad pulled open his book and traced down the page with thick fingers. ‘Well-’  </p><p> </p><p>‘Gods.’ Sansa reached from her chair for a jug of deep red wine. She poured herself a large glass and finished it quickly. <em> My brother, a secret Targaryen, who knew?  </em> Ned Stark. Bran said he’d seen the moment itself, their father arriving just in time to see the well-guarded  Lyanna  Stark before she lost her life in childbed. Ned Stark let the whole realm think he’s fathered a bastard, he let everyone question his honour for the sake of a promise to his sister.  <em> Was she worth it? Was Jon? </em> </p><p>She sat back in her chair, cradling her cup. The fire was all but completely burnt out but she could just see for the few candles scattered around her solar. Jon had wheeled Bran out alongside his old friend Samwell, complaining of the many things he now needed to think on. That had left her alone with Arya who’d asked most of the questions to their younger brother, and Tyrion, who had inexplicably stayed but remained uncommonly silent. <em> This affects his Queen too. Jon’s got a better claim to the Iron Throne than she does. If she marries him, she’ll always carry with her the fear that she’s Queen because of her marriage and not because of who she is. If she kills him, she’ll lose the support of the North and, of course, someone close to her. Jon could keep it a secret but somehow that doesn’t seem right. Why should he hide himself for her sake when she would never dream of doing the same for him? </em> </p><p>It could have been the wine and food from the earlier feast, which now felt like years ago, but her head was beginning to spin. She feared instead it was due to the waves of concerns that this news had swept over her. She realised she was tapping her foot underneath her gown.  </p><p>‘I can’t keep this from Daenerys, she has to know.’ Tyrion broke the stupor the three of them had fallen into. He was pacing the floor behind them but stopped as he addressed the Stark sisters.  </p><p>‘I don’t expect you to.’ Sansa forced a smile. ‘All I ask is for you to wait. This is Jon’s story to tell.’  </p><p>‘You’re sure he’ll tell her? Everything will work much more in his favour he chooses not to tell her that he’s her biggest threat to the throne she’s worked her entire life to reach.’ He took a step forward, wringing his hands together.  </p><p>‘He’ll tell her.’ Arya turned to face him.  </p><p>‘Jon is many things but cunning is not one. He doesn’t want a throne and, from the way those two look at each-other, I can’t see him wanting to get on Daenerys’ bad side.’ Sansa added.  </p><p>‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll give ‘Aegon’ some time but if he doesn’t tell her soon-’ </p><p>‘You have every right to tell her yourself.’ Sansa picked herself from her chair, setting her cup down and straightening her skirts. She let out a large yawn behind her hand. ‘Now I think I’ve had enough for one day. The dead could come any day and I won’t enjoy facing them sleep-deprived. Goodnight Arya. Goodnight Tyrion. I’ll see you in the hall tomorrow.’ She began towards the door that lead to the steps up into her private room. </p><p>Arya said her goodbyes and slipped from the room, her feet flitting silently as if they never touched the floor. Tyrion didn’t appear ready to leave. She shot him a look.  </p><p>‘Do you believe in fate, Sansa? Do you think we all have a destiny?’  </p><p>She took a step away from the door, thinking about her answer as she did so. ‘I don’t know. Can we say whether something is fate or of our own actions? There are a lot of prophecies in the world that see fate as an unavoidable power. You should speak to Lady Melisandre; she’ll lecture you for hours about Azor Ahai and the prophecy she’s dedicated her life to. Why do you ask?’ </p><p>‘Jon and Dany finding each-other. Jon finding out he’s the heir the Iron Throne. The army of the dead marching on us as we speak. What your strange brother said made me think it is no coincidence that so many impossible things are happening at once.’  </p><p>Sansa hadn’t had the chance to think about the connections between all she had just learnt but, as always, Tyrion’s mind was working at double her speed. She couldn’t deny the peculiarity at all she was faced with. It was like a waking dream.  </p><p>‘If someone told me a year ago that all this would be happening? I could never believe them. Then again, I never thought I’d escape King’s Landing. Before then I never thought I’d get married to anyone other than a King. Before that? I never thought I’d amount to anything like my brothers.’ She sighed deeply, reaching for her hair and fumbling with the braid to ready herself for bed. ‘Life is not at all what I expected so why not all of this too? Maybe the Gods have set this cruel game up and are just now revealing their pieces on the board. Like <em> cyvasse </em>. Maybe prophecies are real. Maybe we all have an inescapable destiny. Maybe our lives are our own. How can we ever know until we see such a prophecy fulfilled?’ She finished with her hair, letting it tumble in waves down her shoulder.  </p><p>She couldn’t help but think of Tywin Lannister as she looked upon his youngest son. When he’d appeared to her, he told her many prophecies meant nothing at all but he knew one that had come true. If one had, did that mean others would as well? There was always one prophecy hanging over Winterfell in the chants and prayers of the Red Priestess as she lit her pyres and sent smoke to the heavens to please her Lord of Light. If Jon truly was Azoi Ahai reborn, that twisted a new knot in the weave of these strange days.  </p><p>‘Thank you, your Grace.’ Tyrion interrupted her thinking, now yawning himself. He stepped towards her, pressed a chaste kiss against the back of her hand, bowed, and left her alone. She shook her head to rid herself of Tywin Lannister’s riddles and took herself off to bed, praying that tomorrow would bring more answers and not the army of the dead.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Hands of Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The days fell away much quicker that Jon desired. He spent most of the day either bent double over maps and plans with the Council of the North or down in the training yard, keeping the men and women on their feet. Each night he struggled to sleep through worry so he wandered through the dark halls, now not needing a light, and knocked on the Queen’s door. They could speak for hours if both were awake enough or else fell asleep sprawled across her bed in each-</span>
  <span>other's</span>
  <span> arms. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At Castle Black, he’d picked up the habit of waking early and most mornings he found himself breaking his fast long before the sun had broken the horizon. Since he’d returned to Winterfell however, he spent those precious times as the rest of the castle still slept soundly, to watch her sleep. Her silver hair, normally braided into complicated designs, like the Dothraki she explained, laid across her pillows, tousled and nearly as unkempt as his own. She breathed softly and slowly as she dreamt, statuesque in her stillness. He admired the curves of her features in the darkness, tracing her jaw and cheeks in his mind until she finally began to move around before eventually waking with the dawn. He’d press his lips against her head and they’d march down to the hall and await his sister and the rest of the mixed Northern and Targaryen retinue. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. The words Bran and Sam had spoken danced around his head most nights before he paid her a visit. He told himself at every opportunity that there had to be some mistake yet he knew in his heart that everything he’d been told made perfect sense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ned Stark would never father a bastard; he was much too good and cautious a man for that. He would, however, risk it all to protect his sister and take her secrets to the grave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Winterfell and the North had felt like a home to him, despite the haughty nature of Catelyn Stark, but something was always pulling him away. He had assumed that was the Night’s Watch but he’d found no more satisfaction there than anywhere else. The more he thought on it, the more things began to make sense- his dreams of dragons calling out to him, the leadership of the Night’s Watch coming so easily, the connection between him and Daenerys Targaryen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was what hurt him most of all. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I thought I was inclined towards her because there was something pulling us together but I never expected it to be our blood. I never wanted it to be our blood. I’ve never wanted to be a Targaryen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The name Aegon still fell strangely from his lips when he dared speak it while he lay beside his Queen in the silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to tell her before the dead arrive. I might not have the chance afterwards. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A week after the news was broken to him, he finally gathered himself and, one morning before Daenerys woke, he stole from the bed and found himself walking the empty courtyard, letting his feet take him and his mind wander. When he came to his senses, he found himself facing the wooden door that led down into the Stark crypts where the Kings of Winter slept eternally beside the Starks who bent the knee. The crypts were sacred to the Starks and, as a Stark bastard he had the right to go down there but never felt comfortable when he did. He’d rarely been on his own either. Now he knew he did have a place among his ancestors and he supposed that was why he’d taken himself there to walk with them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up a lit torch once inside and carefully took himself down the slim stairs. The first tombs were barely readable as the years eroded the epitaphs telling of their legendary lives. The Ancient Kings followed him with their stone eyes beneath crowned brows, </span>
  <span>direwolves</span>
  <span> curled at their feet and </span>
  <span>and</span>
  <span> great swords laid across her laps. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was drawn towards her as he never had been before. He knew the story his father had told of Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> and had looked upon her fine features and death pallor but never thought much of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A beauty gone too soon. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was all she was to him. Now the word ‘mother’ crept towards the tip of his tongue. He reached her tomb and lit the candle at its base. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry mother,’ was all he dared to say. He couldn’t help but see the role he played in her death. Not only did she die birthing him, he was the product of the love she bore for a Prince that couldn’t protect her. If she’d never met the Prince </span>
  <span>Rheagar</span>
  <span>, Jon would not exist but Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> probably would still live and the realm may have been saved many years of vicious war. He held up his torch to her face and bit off his glove from his other hand. He pressed her stone flesh against his bare skin, rubbing his thumb along the line of his cheek as the light flickered off of her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed in that position for some time, pushing all his unsaid words through his palm and into the statue of his mother. He knew he would never get the satisfaction of a reply or even an understanding nod or smile but it lightened the load on his shoulders. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon?’ His attention was broken by the sound of a familiar voice from the steps at the end of the cavern. He removed his hand quickly and wiped at his cheek. Seeing his torch, she made her way beside him, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, her hair lying loosely about her shoulders. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I heard the door shut when you left.’ She looked up towards him, sleep still dancing in her eyes. ‘Is everything alright?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked between his mother’s statue towering above them both and the Queen to his side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The dead will be here in a matter of days and I can’t even face Daenerys. This is the time to tell her. Let all the Starks bear witness. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t reply but she followed his gaze and herself was </span>
  <span>captivated</span>
  <span> by the woman ahead of them. ‘Who’s this?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> Stark.’ He replied softly. Daenerys started slightly; he knew she would’ve heard the stories of her brother’s relations with the Ned Stark’s sister. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. She was pretty.’ A sad smile spread across her face. If it weren’t for </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>Rheagar</span>
  <span> Targaryen might still live and Dany wouldn’t have had to flee half her life and fight the other. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She was my mother.’ It wasn’t as strange to admit that aloud as he expected.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Daenerys turned her head quickly, waiting for him to laugh and reveal the joke. His features held firm and she glanced quickly between son and daughter. ‘I </span>
  <span>thought</span>
  <span> you were Ned Stark’s bastard.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘As did I.’ He replied, daring a look towards the Stark patriarch's tomb that sat beside his brother Brandon Stark, killed by the Mad King. ‘But a few nights ago, my old friend Sam came back from the Citadel with entries from an old </span>
  <span>septon’s</span>
  <span> journals. By brother came to me that same night with Sam. He said he’d seen my birth with his new ‘sight’. I didn’t believe him until Sam showed me the papers that proved it all.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> was your mother, who was the father? I can’t see Ned Stark siring a child by his sister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bran saw my </span>
  <span>birth,</span>
  <span> he saw Ned Stark come to her just before she died. She told him what name to call me but father, Ned I mean, knew I wouldn’t be safe with that name. He took me on as his bastard instead and named me Jon.’ He watched her carefully, her </span>
  <span>expression</span>
  <span> hadn’t changed from her mildly accusatory confusion. ‘He feared I’d be killed if anyone knew who I was, given what Robert Baratheon had done to my siblings. Aegon, my mother wanted to call me, Aegon Targaryen.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys jumped backwards, her eyes wide and beginning to fill with that fire and rage that burnt within her. She looked him over once again, still trying to decipher what farce he was trying to weave. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Targaryen?’ She spoke quietly but firmly, not to disturb the souls in the dark halls. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My father was </span>
  <span>Rheagar</span>
  <span> Targaryen, your brother.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That makes no sense.’ She shook her head. ‘My brother kidnapped Lyanna. Why would she name her child for his house?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because that isn’t what happened. Sam found records of the </span>
  <span>septon</span>
  <span> annulling the marriage between your brother and Elia Martell. </span>
  <span>Rheagar</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> married in secret before I was born, before the war took him. I’m not a bastard but I had to be otherwise-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Otherwise you would’ve had the strongest claim to the throne in the realm. I’m the third child of a King but you’re the direct heir of his first-born.’ She never said it aloud but he knew what was running through her mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>You have a stronger claim than I do.’ </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>But I don’t want the Iron Throne. I’ve lived my life as Jon Snow, not some mighty Targaryen like you. My place may be in the North or South but yours in on that throne.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many people know?’ Her initial shock had fallen but her voice was sharp. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bran told my sisters and Tyrion.’ He admitted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tyrion knew and didn’t tell me?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knew I had to be the one to tell you. I meant to say before but I couldn’t bring myself. I’m sorry.’ He reached for her hand, and relief flushed over him when she didn’t pull away. Instead she stood, her mind working in the silence. He rubbed small circles across the back of her hand as she took it all in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then I cannot blame him.’ She decided with a firm nod of her head. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from him.’ Her voice gave away slight doubt but he supposed that was to be expected. He’d just dropped a boulder onto her and somehow she was still standing next to him. Somehow, she hadn’t killed him where he stood. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up towards his mother once again, the candle at the base of her tomb nearly melted away. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been standing there in his vigil. He took his Queen’s arm and gave it a small squeeze. Her expression told him she was elsewhere but he was just thankful that she’d taken it well. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now all I have to do is stop the dead from destroying Westeros then stop my sister from getting herself killed trying to kill Cersei Lannister. If I can keep Dany from feeding me to her dragons for threatening her position, I can do that. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Lord Commander </span>
  <span>Tollett</span>
  <span>, it’s good to see you again. I only wish it were under better circumstances.’ Sansa Stark sat at the high table, surrounded by the Council of the North. Queen Daenerys and her brother were with the dragons but everyone else had arrived to hear the testimony of the Night’s Watch. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye, it’s good to see you too, your Grace.’ He spoke quietly, eager to get to the reason he was there. ‘I wish I could give you better news.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go on.’ She balled one of her hands into a fist below the table. She’d been preparing for the day of the dead’s arrival for months now but she had half-convinced herself it would never come. Her stomach had sunk at the sight of the Night’s Watch men’s haggard faces. News had come to her of the fall of the Wall several days ago from Bran who claimed to have witnessed it as a bird. He’d failed to tell her much more as he couldn’t get close enough to the Night King for whatever reason. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’ve breached the wall at </span>
  <span>Eastwatch</span>
  <span>, brought most of the fortress down with it. We sent word ahead but I guess the birds didn’t reach you.’ Sansa shook her head. ‘Those who survived joined us as we came South – there's no point in defending the wall anymore. They said it was a dragon that broke through the ice. It breathed blue flame and was ridden by one of the walker bastards.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Night King.’ Bran spoke up. ‘The Night King is the eldest of the walkers and their leader. He rides </span>
  <span>Viserion</span>
  <span> after he brought it back to life.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You knew this?’ Sansa turned to her brother. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ He admitted. ‘I saw the dragon, as I told you but I was too far away to be certain if it had a rider. If it did though, it would be the Night King.’ He spoke softly, </span>
  <span>coolly</span>
  <span>, as if the words didn’t bother him at all. They bothered her more than she liked to admit. The thought of a dragon fighting with the dead had caused enough worry when Bran first told her but to know it was driven by the King himself who showed no weakness and had come so close to killing her brother? She felt sick. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We rode hard. We didn’t need word from </span>
  <span>Eastwatch</span>
  <span> to know what had happened. We heard the ice falling from Castle Black. We went to make camp at the Last Hearth but their scouts had already reached the keep. They slaughtered their way through those left. We didn’t stay there and rode on till we reached here. Could you spare some beds and food for </span>
  <span>us?</span>
  <span> We’ll fight with you when the time comes.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course.’ She faked her best smile while her stomach churned. The dead’s scouts had already reached the Last Hearth, it was only a matter of days before the army reached Winterfell. She was glad, at least, that the army was filled with </span>
  <span>wights</span>
  <span>. She couldn’t imagine the wild creatures her brother had described would be easy to ferry South. The black brothers could ride quickly but the dead needed to assemble their thousands of troops. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That gives us a little time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She let out a shaky breath. ‘</span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span>?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The girl from </span>
  <span>Narth</span>
  <span> had joined the rest of the council even though the Queen she served was not present. She was attentive, however, and didn’t seem the type to want to miss anything. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell Queen Daenerys and my brother this news. Tell them we should be ready for the dead to come tomorrow. We can hope it will be later but I won’t be one to not be ready when they come.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Missandei stood, bowed, and slipped away out of the hall’s back door. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa brought her hand out upon the table. She released her fingers from the fist and examined the deep dents her fingernails left in her palm. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa, are you alright?’ A quiet voice called out to her. She glanced across the table to meet Tyrion’s eyes. The others </span>
  <span>in-between</span>
  <span> were also looking to her, awaiting her answer, but she knew he was the one to ask it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have to be.’ She replied as firmly as she could muster. She addressed the black brothers once again. ‘Thank you for your good service. Sleep as much as you can, I shall have food sent to your rooms to renew your strength.’ Theon Greyjoy knew his role and stood, directing the brothers to follow him as he found them lodgings for the night. She smiled to know that, at the very least, Winterfell had fallen into some order since her arrival. People had their place and knew their roles well.</span>
  
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>At this moment my role is not to let everyone see my breakfast again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When the Night’s Watchmen had cleared from the hall, she stood and excused herself, making light work of marching across the hall and out of their sight. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When the main doors of the Great hall closed behind her, she felt the bile in her throat begin to rise and the heat building in her cheeks. Dismissing the guards who moved to escort her, she carried herself outside for fresh air then kept running until no one could see her. When her legs finally slowed, she looked up to find herself beneath the </span>
  <span>Weirwood</span>
  <span> just outside of the castle’s walls. She fell to her knees before it and reached into the small, mirror-like pool, bringing up enough water to cover her face and splash over the top of her gown. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hands trembling, she dug her fingers deep into the ground and concentrated solely on her heavy breathing, squeezing her eyes tight in an effort to force everything out. The sudden cold water had been enough to stop the nausea but it had little effect on the panic rising to a high within her, taking over every part of her body and sabotaging every thought. The dead would be at Winterfell tomorrow or the day after if they were lucky. She couldn’t think of reasons the dead would have to rest. If Jon spoke true, they were an unstoppable force, like a boulder rolling down a mountain, and Winterfell happened to sit directly in its path. They would be marching ever-closer as she sat down in the snow-covered grass and there was absolutely nothing she could do. They would kill and destroy everything she had worked so hard to protect and there was nothing she could do. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She begged to see her mother or father. She wanted someone to tell her it was going to be okay, someone to hold her hand and show her the way to save everyone. She thought to all of the people in the keep. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some of them may by enjoying their last days, or even day, of life. The people who had fought so hard for my bloody sake and all I can do is watch it happen. I can’t defend them. I can’t even give them my word that they’ll be safe. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes opened and shot up to the ancient face in the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> looking down up her with its weeping eyes. No one had come to comfort her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am alone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She shuffled slightly forward and started to stand, bracing herself with a hand on the trunk of the tree. She fell backwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A wall of red surrounded her. She brought her hands to her eyes and rubbed them hard but the wall remained. She stood again and took a few steps closer. It wasn’t a wall at all but women dressed in heavy, flowing red robes, all conjoined by their draping sleeves. The wall was moving too, swaying from side to side as the women hummed and prayed around the tree. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hello?’ The women didn’t respond and their faces were hidden beneath their hoods so she </span>
  <span>couldn’t be</span>
  <span> sure that they had faces, let alone if they’d heard her. She tried a few more times, raising her voice, but to no avail. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She listened intently to their chants but they were in a </span>
  <span>language</span>
  <span> she didn’t </span>
  <span>recongise</span>
  <span>. It sounded old, like nothing she’d heard before. She closed her eyes and focused on the words as hard as possible – </span>
  <em>
    <span>if I can remember what they’re saying, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Missandei</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> might be able to translate. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She didn’t need to remember them as, when she let everything else drown out, the words began shifting and slowly she could pick out words she knew. Eventually, they were all calling out in the common tongue. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be </span>
  <span>Lightbringer</span>
  <span>, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she heard the words once, they shifted again and the women’s voices turned to wails and screams. She opened her eyes to find wreaths of fire twisting around each of them from the hem of their gowns. They howled out skyward but none moved from the circle they had formed. Their voices only swelled into a crescendo of anguish. Sansa stood frozen where she stood. Something told her there was nothing she could do – </span>
  <em>
    <span>this isn’t happening now, that prophecy is thousands of years old. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The screaming was growing unbearable and Sansa closed her hands around her ears to mute their death rattles. She once again closed her eyes tight and let her mind repeat the </span>
  <span>words</span>
  <span> they had chanted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion Lannister was standing above her, eyes wide and mouth open in a question. She removed the hands from her ears and spun around. The women were gone. The </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> was just a tree. She was still at Winterfell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is everything alright?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ She confessed, feeling the cold of her wet skin and skirts at once. ‘The dead will be here tomorrow.’ She didn’t know how she knew. ‘I need a bath.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Word had spread quickly across the keep and throughout the encampments spread across the fields below; the tension in the air was sharp, like the taste of blood, and inescapable. Nobody could be quite sure when the dead would arrive but, by the reports of the Lord Commander, the general agreement was that they would come tomorrow. Brienne was glad for the endless preparations put in place, even if just to settle her mind rather than actually stop the dead. If Jon and the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> had gone South to seek help at King’s Landing, chances are they wouldn’t arrive back in time and Winterfell would be sorely lacking two Dragons and a slave army. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne spent the afternoon first sparring with Arya Stark, who was often too quick to be </span>
  <span>outwitted,  and</span>
  <span> too lithe to be caught by a blade. When she’d spent several hours with the Stark girl and a few others seeking escape from the feeling of dread, she took to the forge, honing her blade and making idle conversation with the Baratheon bastard. Her Valyrian blade was one of the few in their arsenal and she had no intentions of letting it dull and wasting its potential. She hoped Jaime was doing the same with his other half. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was in the forge somewhere too, keeping the smith boy company as he finished the final details of her new knife. He brother had gifted her Lord Baelish’s blade that had cut its master’s throat, but she wanted to make it more of her own. There were enough smiths working all hours to forge weapons and arrow-heads from the </span>
  <span>dragonglass</span>
  <span> brought over from Dragonstone so he could spare a few hours to add a wolf’s head hilt to the short blade. When it was done, she gave it a few testing swipes in the air before presenting it to Brienne who admired the craftsmanship with a smile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you like it, my Lady?’ The boy wiped the back of his hand across his forehead then wiped his hands across his leather apron. He hadn’t made much of a difference – he was still covered in a thin layer of grease </span>
  <span>intermingled</span>
  <span> with sweat from the always burning fires. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s wonderful.’ She passed it back towards Arya. From her youth Brienne had had an eye for fine weapons and had often begged her father for a gilded sword instead of the horses and dresses other maidens desired. Eventually, after seeing the dresses go to waste and the fair horses cast aside in favour of strong beasts bred for battle, her father had conceded. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Could you pass this to the Queen?’ He reached over to a table and retrieved a small dagger cast in black </span>
  <span>obsidian</span>
  <span>. Unlike the thousands of other </span>
  <span>dragonglass</span>
  <span> daggers, this was embellished with fine stones and the ivory hilt had been carved into the shape of a crown. She took it from him and felt the weight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>She’ll love it.’ Brienne stood from her seat, satisfied that </span>
  <span>Oathkeeper</span>
  <span> could not get any sharper and nodded to the wolf princess and her Baratheon lover. It didn’t take much to catch the glances between the two young fighters when they thought no one was looking. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll walk with you.’ Arya made her farewells and joined Brienne as they marched from the forge back towards the main keep. She was walking with unusual glee, as if their world wasn’t about to come tumbling down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you love him?’ Brienne spoke softly, breaking the silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gendry?’ Arya asked with a laugh. Her mirth didn’t last long. ‘I don’t know.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne could hear the sincerity in her voice. She wanted to tell the girl how obvious their shared affections were, how loyal the boy had been and how hopelessly in love he was. Instead she dropped her voice and stopped in the middle of the courtyard. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should decide soon. Who knows what we’ll be left with once the dead are gone, if they are </span>
  <span>gone.</span>
  <span> If there has ever been a time to forget your doubts and seize everything in your reach, it’s now.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya face dropped in thought, becoming sullen and serious. After a few moments, she returned to her usual wolfish grin. ‘Perhaps you should follow your own advice, Lady Brienne.’ She winked and set off in the opposite direction, back towards the forge. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne stood unblinking for several seconds after the girl had disappeared from view. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s not wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She shook her head at herself and continued on the path she was taking. Hunger was beginning to set in and she knew she needed to build up her strength for the day ahead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Night had long fallen by the time she left her room. She’d spent most of the afternoon at her window, watching the courtyard below and the camps in the distance busy at work. Sansa had dismissed her for the day so she found herself with little to do. She considered heading down to the armies of the North and the Unsullied but, from her vantage point, their commanders were working hard and would have no need for her interference. She could see Jon Snow, returned from his dragon flight, speaking with the red-headed Tormund </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span> ahead of the combined forces they led. She was glad she was too far away to </span>
  <span>be spotted,</span>
  
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think I can face that wilding’s wandering eye today. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Across from them, in the second encampment, Jaime Lannister was positioned at the front of the forces from the South alongside the Unsullied commander. With the Dornish gone, he was only leading the </span>
  <span>Manderly</span>
  <span> and Reed forces, both technically North of the Twins, but Southern enough to come into frequent quarrels with the Northern houses. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was standing proud in his steel armour, his sword sitting at its hip, the red in his blade visible in the glinting light of the sun. She watched him speak with </span>
  <span>Greyworm</span>
  <span> and his </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> companion, raising his golden hand, that also caught the light, and sometimes pacing along the lines of men assembled before them. At seeing them, she wished that she had gone down to be a part of the preparations but the light was already fading and the hour was growing late. She stayed at her window until she was called for dinner, which she took in her room, followed by another hour fussing over her armour. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know how she found herself walking the halls of Winterfell but she soon was, unable to consider sleeping yet but too weary of exhausting herself to train outside. She sought out company but none of the doors she knocked at were occupied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Strange. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her feet found their way to the Queen’s Tower and presented herself to the Stark house guards who stuck their heads round the door. A few words were spoken and the door was soon thrown open, casting a warm light from within on the dank corridors. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, largely seated around the fire, everyone she knew seemed to have congregated. Jugs of wine had been set up around the room and the most people were speaking, smiles and laughs surrounding them. She caught the eye of the Queen herself who stuck a hand around her shoulder and pulled her inside. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you arrange to have everyone here?’ Brienne </span>
  <span>ventured;</span>
  <span> a touch offended that she wasn’t aware of the gathering. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Sansa smiled, sipping at her cup. ‘No one was able to sleep so one by one, they found themselves here. My solar is always open to friends.’ She beamed warmly at those surrounding them who raised their cups, welcoming Brienne. A seat was pulled out for her and she took her place around the hearth between Ser Davos Seaworth and the little Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> who held a cup of wine only half-filled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A song!’ The little Lady requested, easily commanding the attention of the room. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A song.’ Others repeated in agreement. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just none of that bloody Rains of Castamere shit.’ Ser Bronn called out. ‘I’ve heard that song too many fucking times.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She caught Jaime smirk at that and his brother Tyrion raise a cup. Neither dared to hide the </span>
  <span>abhorrence</span>
  <span> they held for their deceased father. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Podrick</span>
  <span>.’ Lord Tyrion grinned from his seat beside the Queen. Brienne looked around and found that the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> and Jon Snow were not </span>
  <span>among</span>
  <span> those assembled. ‘A song.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The boy blushed and looked down into his lap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not a boy any longer. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Podrick</span>
  <span> Payne had acted as her squire on her trip North and had found firm footing as the Queen’s personal steward, residing in the small chambers off a door in the solar. He’d been largely hopeless as a squire, which probably explained why he still hadn’t risen to a knighthood but she couldn’t deny that, under her tutelage and help from </span>
  <span>Garlan</span>
  <span> Tyrell, he’d grown significantly as a fighter. Was it pride that made her shoot him an encouraging look? His eyes were darting at those now staring at him but eventually he smiled and quiet fell over them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the silence, a haunting melody swept across the room as his sweet voice began. She knew the song well, Jenny of </span>
  <span>Oldstones</span>
  <span>, but his voice carried the song in a way she’d never heard before, beauty but sorrowful at once. As he sang, he grew in confidence, rising in volume as he reached the final verses, finishing with a soul-stirring final note that faded softly into stunned stillness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The sat for some time, nobody daring to say a word as they let the mournful song wash over them. Brienne tried to think hard but found her mind empty of all thoughts except the echoing tune. She looked across the room and her eyes fell upon the Queen. She remembered the small dagger sitting at her hip. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace.’ She began, startling several of those seated around the fire. ‘I was given this for you.’ She pulled out the dagger and stood to present it. The black obsidian of the blade shone like dark waters in the flickering flames. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s beautiful.’ She smiled, turning it over in her hands and carefully tracing the pad of her index finger along the well-honed edge. ‘Thank you, Lady Brienne. I’ll make sure to thank Gendry too.’ He was also absent from the gathering, alongside the princess. Bran Stark had made an appearance, </span>
  <span>seating</span>
  <span> in his wheeled chair along the back of the wall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Lady </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne?’ The wildling called out. ‘I thought you were a knight like Goldie?’ He </span>
  <span>getsured</span>
  <span> towards Jaime who was sitting next to him, dressed in his simple clothes, nursing a cup like the others. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Women can’t be knights.’ She explained quickly, eager to shift the conversation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bullshit!’ Tormund persisted, smacking down his tankard of ale on a nearby table, soaking it in doing so. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Brienne was about to be the first.’ Sansa spoke up, looking between them. ‘That was before the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> interrupted court and then I went North and we haven’t had the chance since.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The chance?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘To get an audience. The first female knighting should be seen by as many people as possible.’ Sansa’s eyes hinted at her own disappointment. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well how many more people do you bloody need?’ Tormund rose from his seat and spread his arms out towards the room. She looked too and many faces looked back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa ‘s eyes were elsewhere, fixed across their half-circle in the direction of Jaime who returned with a raised eyebrow. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re right Tormund.’ Sansa set down her cup. ‘Brienne I’ve made you wait too long, I’m sorry for that. These people will be more than enough to bear witness. You deserve this.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Across the room, Jaime nodded and stood, offering her his left hand. With a scowl from Tormund, she let him lead her to the centre of the chairs, before the hearth. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kneel, Lady Brienne.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span> At his word, she scoffed but soon found herself obeying, dropping down to her knees before him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was an odd feeling, looking up towards the Lion of </span>
  <span>Casterly</span>
  <span> Rock as he unsheathed his sword and prepared himself. She’d been there before, before the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> interrupted now but she knew this was different. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is personal. This belongs to me, to us. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gently, he lay the sword at her left shoulder and took a deep breath. Against her soft doublet, the blade felt like a kiss on her skin, enough pressure for her to feel but never too harsh to cause pain. She kept her eyes fixed on his pools of green that shone gold in the semi-darkness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.’ She felt her stomach turn.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his sword and placed in on her right shoulder. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.’ She felt her eyes water. Perhaps it was from staring so long upwards. Perhaps it was from being so close to the soot and ashes from the fire. Perhaps it was from the rare kindness in Jaime Lannister’s eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He lowered his sword and took a small step backwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Arise Brienne of Tarth – a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As she stood, wobbly at first, she could barely hear her thoughts underneath the cheers and clapping of the witnesses surrounding them. Her heart was also pounding in her ears – the room became a cacophony of jubilation and calls of her name. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ser Brienne of Tarth!’ Tyrion raised his cup towards her. Sansa stood from her seat and moved to embrace her sworn sword. When she was </span>
  <span>released,</span>
  <span> she could do nothing but allow a grin to take over for her face, tears in her eyes and mind reeling. She felt a hand reach out and intertwine her fingers with his. She met his eyes, still warm and welcoming by the fire. He squeezed his hand and offered a quick wink before they returned to their seats and the chatter resumed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had been </span>
  <span>summoned</span>
  <span> down into her solar by Pod, explaining that Tyrion and Jaime were seeking an audience. In truth it was less of an audience and more of a chance to drink together and forget the impending death that faced them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How can I refuse?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sent one of her serving girls off to fetch more wine and before the girl had returned, the room was slightly fuller with Margaery, Lady </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> and Tormund </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span> joining them. Ser Davos made an appearance next followed swiftly by Lady Meera accompanying Bran. She didn’t expect to see her other siblings; she had a feeling both Jon and Arya had other, far more important, places to be. She smiled to see Theon with Jeyne at his arm but asked for his sister. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s in the glass gardens.’ He explained, pouring two cups of wine. ‘Said the pool in there was the closest she could get to the sea.’ He laughed at that and Sansa let herself giggle, fearing it would be the last time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The night continued on in a similar vein as the room gradually filled. Stories were shared, songs were sung and no one spoke of the dead. No one even mentioned tomorrow. The knighting of Brienne of Tarth warmed her soul more than any wine could and she sat back in her chair, deeply </span>
  <span>satisfied</span>
  <span>, the blissful peace casting a cool fog over her fears. When she sat, Tyrion hand found its way on top of hers. She didn’t pull away- it was a great comfort and she was brought back to King’s Landing as their skin touched, all her worries melting away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She cast an eye over the room. Brienne and Jaime had moved chairs to sit next to each-other and were perched unusually close on their seats, to Tormund’s instant detest. He was instead weaving the story of how he came to be named </span>
  <span>Giantsbane</span>
  <span>. She tuned him out. </span>
  <span>Lyanna</span>
  <span> Mormont was sitting beside Meera Reed who had forced Bran to join their conversation by pushing him into the circle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since he arrived at Winterfell, Sansa saw her brother laugh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Davos was one of the only ones listening to Tormund’s tale although Uma Reed, who had switched chairs with Brienne was now sitting next to the wilding and also seemed intrigued leaning in close. The </span>
  <span>crannogwoman</span>
  <span> had long mourned her broken </span>
  <span>frogspear</span>
  <span> but was overjoyed when the leader of the free folk presented her with a new one. He seemed to have a soft spot for shield-maidens and confided in Sansa that he couldn’t bear seeing a spear wife without her spear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Across from them, Theon spoke in a hushed voice to Jeyne Poole. Winterfell had worked wonders for the two of them as they drastically returned to full health and, in turn, found common ground over their shared horrors. When Theon noticed her looking, she offered him an assuring smile and returned to her cup. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She watched the others through misty eyes the rest of the night, feeding off their smiles and laughs in her own quiet silence. Tyrion too was drinking in the atmosphere and, to her surprise, was not drinking deeply from his cup. She supposed even he didn’t want to face tomorrow in sickness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She nearly forgotten about the very reason they were all together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why have we not shared a night like this before? Why must we only come together with the spectre of death looming ahead of us? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She stood and set down her cup. Her stomach had begun to swirl and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. She conjured her best smile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will leave you all now. Feel free to stay here as long as you need. Good night.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will see you tomorrow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She didn’t say it. She had been reminded of the army of the dead but she didn’t need to lay that burden on them in their rare moment of </span>
  <span>tranquillity</span>
  <span>. She shook hands, made her farewells and took herself up the small, winding stairs toward her room.  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After she undressed, she laid in bed, exposing her warm flesh, to the cool air from the slightly ajar window. She was too hot to slip under the furs, despite the frigid temperatures outside so she instead focused her intention on the canopy above her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, as she lay there, the sounds from below </span>
  <span>petered</span>
  <span> out. She heard the sound of footsteps and the closing of the door and the room emptied just as slowly as it had filled. She had hoped to find solace in her room and fall asleep but it never came. Time slipped away but she barely noticed it. She couldn’t help but think of the strange vision that had almost escaped her mind until she was alone. At times she thought the red women were in her room, surrounding her with their swaying and chants once again. When she looked though, she was still alone and their prayers and prophecy were no more than the whistling of the wind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then they weren’t. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes had just been closing and she had begun to hear their voices again, clearer than before, repeating the words once more, drilling them into her head. When she opened her eyes to prove to herself it was nothing more than imagination, their chants slipped away but the voices didn’t. A simple, low melody called out to her from her solar below. </span>
  
</p><p><span>‘He rode through the streets of the city</span> <br/><span>Down from his hill on high</span> <br/><span>O' </span><span>er</span><span> the winds and the steps and the cobble</span> <br/><span>He rode to woman's sigh.’</span></p><p>
  <span>She could just make out the quiet words, listening intently. Her </span>
  <span>curiosity</span>
  <span> got the better of her and though she longed for a deep sleep, she drove herself up and covered her shivering frame in her fur lined cloak, pinned at the top by her direwolf broach. She slowly opened the door, easing it forward to avoid creaking. </span>
  
</p><p><span>‘For she was his secret treasure</span> <br/><span>She was his shame and his bliss</span> <br/><span>And a chain and a keep are nothing</span> <br/><span>Compared to a woman's </span><span>kiss.’</span></p><p>
  <span>As she padded down the stairs, she heard the voice clearer and was more than certain she knew its owner. The was more drawn to the tone however. The voice was more pained that Pod had been, </span>
  <span>softer</span>
  <span> and dripping in implacable woe. She stopped before the second door that would lead her into the solar and pressed her ear against the wood. </span>
  
</p><p><span>‘For hands of gold are always cold</span> <br/><span>But a woman's hands are warm</span> <br/><span>For hands of gold are always cold</span> <br/><span>But a woman's hands are warm.’</span></p><p>
  <span>As he finished, she gently pushed at the door, gripping her cloak tightly against herself. His back was to her, facing the now dwindling fire. He hadn’t heard her come in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tyrion-’ Her voice came out smaller than she’d expected. She stood before him when he turned, hair loose and unkempt from laying down, and her eyes deep set from tiredness. She cursed herself for her appearance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now I am not a Queen. In here I am only Sansa Stark. That means he is only Tyrion Lannister and not the Hand of the Dragonqueen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa.’ He breathed out shakily, looking her over. ‘I thought you went to bed?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She admitted with a half-smile. She moved towards him, settling on the couch. ‘I heard your singing. I’ve never heard that song before.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was written for me. I had the man who wrote it </span>
  <span>killed.</span>
  <span>’ He sat himself next to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s sad.’ She didn’t care that he admitted he ‘d killed a man. They were both responsible for plenty of deaths between them. She’d nearly lost count. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye.’ He murmured, facing outwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was it about Shae?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His head shot around towards her. ‘H-how did you know?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had never openly thought her husband had been sleeping with her maid but she couldn’t forget the sadness in his eyes when she’d found her to be spying on them for Tywin Lannister. She could see the appeal in Shae; full-bodied, a foreign woman with plenty of stories, deep brown lustful eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I just knew.’ The words fit it all perfectly. The hand of the king turned Master of Coin spending his nights with a camp-follower turned maid. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would’ve made the perfect romance, were it not for her betrayal. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I killed her too.’ He paused and breathed in deeply. ‘After I shot my bolt through my father, I found her waiting for him in his bed. She wore his chains of office around her neck. I choked her with them.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say anything but took his hand in her own. She could say that she knew how he felt, with all the red on her own hands, but she knew it wouldn’t be true. The people she’d killed- Joffrey and Ramsay- were fully deserving of their fate. She convinced herself for the shortest time she loved Joffrey but beside that, she’d felt nothing for either of them bar hatred. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was Walder Frey’s wife. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t even know her name. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Lord of the Crossing was cruel and vindictive and was behind the murder of her brother and mother – she couldn’t deny the satisfaction the news of his death brought her, especially as it was by her sister’s hand. His wife, however, young and probably not married to him by choice, was innocent of the weasel’s crime yet she’d lost her life nonetheless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it better to kill someone you thought you loved who turned on you or someone you not to have done no wrong? I should be executed for murder but they wouldn’t bring justice to me. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I kill Walder Frey’s wife. I don’t even know what her name was. It was an accident.’ She knew it was vastly different from having to watch the life drain from one you thought you could trust but she couldn’t help but be reminded of the sheer terror in her misty eyes as she fell limp in her arms. That had been so long ago. She’d almost forgotten. He squeezed his hand tightly and said no more. They could sit dwelling on their crimes and regrets for hours but that wouldn’t help either of them anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The past was cruel and the future may be even crueller. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you scared to die?’ She finally asked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me too.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But the present doesn’t have to be so bad. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand still clasped around his, Sansa Stark fell asleep on the soft seat as the fire finally died. He tried to extricate from her without waking her but eventually, having nearly fallen asleep himself, he gave in and settled himself on the seat. Her soft breathing, slow and rhythmic, lulled him into a deep, well-needed sleep. </span>
  
</p><p><em><span>For hands of gold are always cold</span></em> <br/><em><span>But a woman's hands are warm</span></em> <br/><em><span>For hands of gold are always cold</span></em> <br/><em><span>But a woman's hands are warm</span></em></p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dialogue taken from 8x02</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Horn of Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-ARYA- </p><p>Like any other day, the castle came to life. Men still trained in yard, smiths laboured in the forge and the armies below continued their drilling. The air didn’t feel the same as it did the day before and it wasn’t just the chill that had settled on the keep and the fields surrounding it. Nobody spoke a word. Everyone continued their work but did so in silence. Everyone was deep in their own thoughts as often are men marching to battle. Those who didn’t have work to fill their time remained in their bed, holding those beside them close or letting their loneliness smother them as they stared upwards.  </p><p>Arya awoke with a start, as she often did, taking deep breaths as she adjusted to the unfamiliar room. Slowly the night came back to her. She’d spent the day sparring with Lady Brienne or sweating in the forge, entertaining Gendry as he painstakingly finished his final pieces for her and Sansa. She searched across the bed. On the stand nearest to her, she could make out the outline of her new dagger, <em> C </em> <em> at’s  </em> <em> Paw </em>, now embellished with a direwolf helm to distance it from its unusual history. After the forge, she’d eaten a large helping of stew, which was the sole option most nights, and took a stroll in the gardens. Something Brienne had said to her was playing on her mind. The great woman had been right- everyone's clocks were nearing their ends, including her own. Night fell as she walked, passing by the camps where men celebrated their last night before imminent death. She shared a drink with one group of man huddled around a fire before heading back up to the keep where she helped herself to a cup of hot spiced wine.  </p><p>She pushed herself up from the bed, inhaling sharply at the cold biting at her exposed skin. She looked down upon herself and smirked. Quietly, she dressed herself and padded over to the door. As she lay her hand on the oak frame, she chanced a look at the sleeping form still lying beneath the furs. Images of last night flashed before her eyes. She could feel his skin on her hands, smell her scent on the air, she could feel his touches all over her. She tried to shake away the memories, when she found herself staring, but they persisted.  </p><p><em> I only came here because I was sure I would die today.  </em>She reminded herself, trying to replace the latent feeling of the heat between them with the thoughts of the icy death that was surely just hours away.  </p><p><em> Would I have come here anyway?  </em>Gendry had been one of the few people she had trusted since she left King’s Landing with Yoren. That had been until he left her to join the Brotherhood without Banners and she had to continue alone. She’d hated him for that, considered adding him to her list just for the gut punch he’d delivered by choosing men no better that bandits over her. She thought her anger would fester and she’d release it all if she ever saw him again. When she found him on the road North, however, it melted away. Her heart had jumped to see him again and she couldn’t ignore the worry she’d endured when he went with her sister to the wall. She’d acted as relaxed and uncaring as she could when they said their goodbyes, pretending as if it didn’t matter, shrugging him off like an excessive blanket.  </p><p>Now she stood over him like an assassin, knife in hand but rooted to the spot, not quite ready to leave this moment yet.  </p><p>‘Are you going to stand there forever?’ He groaned, eyes still closed. With an eye roll she stepped forward and used her knife to flick his covers off of him. He moaned in response and wrapped his arms around himself against the cold. ‘What are you doing?’  </p><p>‘Admiring the view.’ She spun the Valyrian blade in her hands. After more groaning, he brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them, pushing himself up and looking over to where she still stood over him.  </p><p>‘I thought you were trying to sneak out, your highness.’ He swung his legs over the bed and groped around for his clothes. She tossed his discarded undershirt in his direction.  </p><p>She hated it when he called her that and he knew it well. ‘I’m not some whore, <em> bastard boy </em>.’ She returned with a sneer. He threw a cushion in her direction which she deflected with the back of her arm.  </p><p>‘If you say so, princess.’ He pulled on his boots and laced them up. It was strange to watch him dress in anything but his forge apron. Instead he layered his body in mail and a thick leather jerkin. Later, she knew, he’d add his plate and helm but there was no use carrying all of that until the dead made their appearance. She looked between him and the door. Something was still holding her back from pushing it open. She found herself blocking his exit.  </p><p>‘Don’t you think we should break our fast? I’m sure your sister will lay a good spread for our last day alive.’ He tried to move past her but she held her position. ‘Arya the dead won’t wait for us.’  </p><p><em> They’re going to have to.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Not yet.’ She reached out a hand and laid it against his chest, his heart beating softly beneath. ‘It’s cold out there. Can’t we stay in the warm a little longer?’ She tilted her head to the side and widened her eyes.  </p><p>He chuckled, taking a step back with his hands raised to her in mock surrender. ‘We can’t stay in here forever.’  </p><p>‘I know.’ She stepped away from the door and sat down upon his bed. ‘But the dead won’t here for a few hours at least.’  </p><p>He fell back onto the furs, crossing his hands on his chest and looking up to where she sat. She lay down next to him. For an hour they sat in that comfortable silence but eventually, the thoughts of the day ahead returned and both forced themselves up and out of the door. Arya checked the knife at her hip and needle in its sheath.  </p><p><em> Not today.  </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> - </em>SANSA- </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Oh, your Grace!’  Podrick  Payne stood over her when she awoke. She had to blink several times to adjust to the darkness and to put together where exactly she was.  <em> I am on the seat in my solar. I came down here as watched the fire die. I wasn’t alone. </em> </p><p>She pushed herself up, finding herself still cocooned in her cloak over her shift and searched the room. Except for her steward now busing himself with the left-over cups and jugs, no one else was to be seen.  </p><p>‘Would you like something to eat?’ He piped up, carrying a tray in his hands. She shook her head. She’d been the one to arrange for the food in the morning. There’d be loafs of toasted bread, salted fish brought from the Manderly’s, bacon, some tender some burnt, heaps of fruits from the last harvest and sweet teas to settle stomachs. At the time she’d thought it was a wonderful idea to get everyone prepared but now the very thought of food sickened her.  </p><p>‘Some sweet tea, if you will. Thank you.’ She smiled pleasantly towards him and he nodded, leaving her to force herself to her feet and back upstairs. She paused at the top of her stairs- the door was slightly ajar and she could hear movement within. Clutching at the clasp of her cloak, she reached for her dagger, cursing herself to find her sword-belt missing. Instead, she kicked the door open and sidled forward, peering in.  </p><p>Light was already dancing upon her floor and bed and she soon smiled to see the sun glittering in golden curls.  </p><p>‘Tyrion?’  </p><p>Tyrion Lannister was awake, dressed and darting around the room in a strange fury. She watched him replace books left on her night stand and tidy away some fabrics she fussed over on the nights where sleep evaded her.  </p><p>‘Good morning.’ He called out, continuing with his work.  </p><p>‘You stayed the whole night?’ She pushed into the room and sat herself on her bed.  </p><p>‘Well, I couldn’t leave in the middle of the night. People would –ahem- <em> talk </em>.’  </p><p>‘What are you doing?’ She began at her dresser, sorting through the clothes she needed for the day. She removed her black breeches and leather jerkin fashioned out of fish scales. She selected a plain grey skirt to sit over the breeches and a matching tunic for under the jerkin.  </p><p>‘You are shockingly disorganised – did you know that? I thought you can’t have people sheltering in here amongst the clutter.’ As he spoke, she carried her bundle of clothing behind her screen, shooting him a look of derision as she went.  </p><p>In truth she hadn’t even considered the state of her chambers when offering them up to host the most vulnerable inhabitants of Winterfell. Jon had first advised her to wait below the castle in the crypts, a notion she couldn’t help but laugh at.  </p><p>‘Jon you have had some regrettable ideas but this is the worst. You want me to put the weak, the children and the elderly in the crypts, during a battle against a man who can reanimate the dead?’  </p><p>‘I-well-’  </p><p>‘My quarters will serve the purpose well. The solar below can be defended by Stark men and, if any wights make it across them, the stairs up to my room are narrow, only wide enough for one person at a time. I know little of battle but I’ve learnt a bit about strategy. We’ll stand much more of a chance if the wights attack one at a time than if we faced them in an open space, like the crypts.’  </p><p>Arranging for the weakest to hold up in her rooms had seemed like the most logical move therefore she’d thought little of it. She was more than happy to give up her space for the sake of the defence of those who could not defend themselves. Still, seeing Tyrion actually clearing the floor and sorting her belongings brought the reality down on her. She wasn’t just hosting people in her chambers; she was fitting a large amount of them in a small space while they all prayed for the sakes of their friends and families fighting below and for themselves, if they were defeated.  </p><p>‘Tyrion?’ </p><p>‘Hmm?’ </p><p>‘Will you strap me up?’ Sansa stepped out from the screen, which she promptly pushed to the side of the room. He started towards her and she turned and knelt, her skirts sitting around her, as he buckled the straps of her jerkin. Sitting on her knees in front of him, while he fiddled at her back, she could almost feel the eyes on her as they had been at the Sept of Baelor. She’d been forced to kneel so Tyrion could wrap his Lannister red cloak around her shoulders. <em> Joffrey wanted to  </em> <em> humiliate </em> <em>  him so took his stool away. There’s no one here to laugh anymore.  </em> </p><p>They cleared the rest of the room together then headed down into the solar where Pod had brought the sweet tea, as well as some deeply blackened bacon and soft white bread. Tyrion accepted the meat heartily and she allowed herself a roll. <em> It wouldn’t look good if I feinted from hunger at such a time.  </em> </p><p>They ate in a comfortable silence, neither daring to make comment of their closeness the night before or the future ahead. There was a sharp knock at the door.  </p><p>‘Gilly? Is everything alright?’ The once-wildling girl approached with her child sitting at her hip. She’d been introduced to the woman saved by Samwell Tarly after the apprentice Maester delivered his news. She was kindly and had shown willing to help with preparations, even with her child in her arms.  </p><p>‘Yes.’ She spoke softly, setting the boy down on his short, thick legs. ‘Sam told me to come here. He’s just worried. I don’t mean to intrude or-’ </p><p>‘Nonsense’. Sansa picked herself up. She took hold of Gilly’s arm and shook it reassuringly. ‘I’ll be on the battlements but you’re free to wait here. Have you eaten? Ask Podrick if you need anything.’  </p><p>‘Many thanks, your Grace. I’ll see you later?’ <em> And by that she means when the dead come. </em>  </p><p>‘Yes, I’ll see you later.’  </p><p> </p><p>-BRIENNE- </p><p>Brienne awoke alone in her bed, clinging to her covers as the cold seeped in and attacked her skin. Winterfell was cold. The North was impossibly cold. But this morning was unlike anything she’d felt before – <em> even the wall was warmer than this.  </em> She knew it had to mean the dead were close.  <em> Fuck.  </em> </p><p>She pushed herself up and began to dress quickly, covering her mail with thick, fur-lined clothes which were covered in turn by her plate. She’d become rather adept at buckling herself on own her own and was out of her chambers in a matter of minutes.  </p><p>She sped towards the kitchens where she helped herself to some sweet breads fresh from the ovens and bacon from the pan. The cooks were already cleaning away for the day. Sansa had ordered them to leave for Wintertown as soon as they were finished. Bran Stark had made it clear the Night King was after him so they hoped he’d find little to gain in sacking the near frozen village at the edge of Winterfell. Sucking at the grease from her fingers, Brienne headed back to her room, where she picked up her swordbelt, helm and gloves, before making the trip to her Queen’s tower.  </p><p>As she strapped her gauntlets together, her body froze.  </p><p><em> I’m a knight.  </em> </p><p>The night before came back to her in waves and she struck still by the memory. She could still feel the cool blade pressed lightly on both her shoulders. She could hear Jaime’s low tones as he said the words that set her heart thumping in her chest. He’d sat with her the rest of the night, mostly taking joy out of calling her ‘ser’ at every possible juncture. She knew he wasn’t mocking her- it was genuine. It was nice.  </p><p>When her thoughts had run their course, she finished with her gauntlets and headed out, almost clashing with Sansa as she opened the door to her rooms.  </p><p>‘Ser Brienne.’ She greeted with a coy smile. Brienne controlled herself, dipping her head respectfully and taking her place at the Queen’s side. ‘Do you feel any different?’ </p><p>‘Sansa-’ A voice behind them warned. She turned to see Tyrion Lannister on their heels. She raised an eyebrow to the Queen but she gave nothing away. ‘You sound like someone asking a child if they feel any different on their name day.’  </p><p>Sansa said nothing. Brienne expected she would’ve normally retaliated with something witty but they’d reached the ramparts were the tension of the courtyard rose up, hitting them like solid brick. All eyes were fixed on the empty land ahead of them, mostly towards the tree line where the army were sure to emerge from. Only the sound of metal boots on stone and the occasional bark of an order broke the otherwise impenetrable silence. The Queen’s sister, Arya, awaited them, also watching the distance intently.  </p><p>The Stark girls regarded each-other with small smiles and stood as one from the vantage point. Brienne took a step back and let her eyes wander over the courtyard. The keep sat like a coiled spring, trembling in a nervous excitement as it awaited its cause to fly into action.  </p><p>‘Did you enjoy your last night alive?’ Tyrion had joined her and leant inwards with a whisper.  </p><p>‘It was nice.’ She answered.  </p><p>‘Yes, the Queen’s solar was <em> very nice </em>  and I’m sure being knighted was  <em> very nice </em> but that’s not what I’m talking about.’  </p><p>‘I have no idea what you mean.’  </p><p>He sighed and shook his head. ‘I <em> mean  </em>did my brother treat you honourably. I know he’s kind to you but, given his history with women, I can’t help but fear for him.’  </p><p>‘No Jaime was good. He took me back to my room, wished me well.’ She kept her expression firm. Now that she thought about it, the memory of the moment overtook her mind. He’d dropped her off outside her door and his eyes had swam in the candlelight as he made his farewells. He done so with such an air of finality that she’d seized him back and made him promise not to be a fool. With a dry laugh he’d promised, reminding her his history of sticking to his oaths, and had left her there. She’d wanted to reach out again but she stayed her hand. She didn’t dare admit the burning fires he stoked within her. She hated him for it and for every time he left her standing alone wondering whether he felt anything for her at all.  </p><p>‘He <em> didn’t  </em>fuck you?’ Tyrion Lannister looked up towards her, genuine shock in his eyes. ‘I could’ve sworn you two would, considering the threat of imminent death. Perhaps he truly has changed.’ He chuckled softly. Brienne spluttered as she tried to think up a retort but was interrupted. </p><p>‘There’s Daenerys and Jon.’ Arya pointed towards the two dragons in the near distance. Beside them, two figures were just visible. One in all white and the other in all black. Jon Snow hadn’t broken his neck while riding the dragon the day before, which was a good sign.  </p><p>As time passed, more bodies moved into the light. The armies below drew up into their lines, Unsullied beside Northerns and Wildlings, and those that stood to defend the keep had gathered in the courtyard. Stocks of arrows lined the walls of the battlements alongside barrels of oil and bags of rocks to hurl at any wights who tried to clamber up the walls. Crossbows were trained on the treeline, trebuchets sat before the keep, men waiting around them and fires were lit in every metal basin.  </p><p>Winterfell held its breath.  </p><p> </p><p>-JON- </p><p>The call of a low horn pierced the still air.  </p><p>Jon was fussing over Rhaegal, patting his flank softly and begging the beast not to buck him off mid-air. At the blast of noise, his head shot round and he squinted towards the tree line. The sun had begun its early descent in the afternoon so by then only a faint glow remained at the horizon. At his side, Daenerys took a slow step forward as they waited.  </p><p>The horn blew again.  </p><p>Two blasts for wildlings, he knew the sound well. He placed his hand on the dragon’s neck and planted his boots firmly in the snow. Even the dragons didn’t dare move as they craned to hear the death knoll.  </p><p>A long, louder blast of the horn echoed through the empty fields the separated them from the advancing dead. He strained to see what their lookouts had seen. Without a word, Dany’s hand rose, pointing to a row of trees that, when he looked, appeared to be moving as thousands of wights fell over each other to break the tree line. Jon tapped Rhaegal’s neck and the beast bent down enough for him to clamber on his back, trying to stay put on its slippery green scales.  </p><p><em> I’ll never get used to this.  </em>He wandered if Daenerys thought much of riding her dragon. He watched her mount the black beast named for her Dothraki husband with the ease of a dancer, swinging her leg over and flattening her body against him. She looked back towards him, brows furrowed together and lips slightly parted. There was something she wanted to say but she decided against it and settled with a firm nod. He returned it and set his eyes ahead, squeezing his thighs around the dragon and trying to think of anything else as they left the ground.  </p><p><em> The dead are  </em> <em> descending on Winterfell, this is no time to fear flying or falling. There is only one thing I should fear and he’s almost within reach.  </em>  </p><p> </p><p>-SANSA- </p><p>This was the darkness the prophecy had spoken of; Sansa knew it well. Standing at the battlements, the drop in temperature had forced many of the men to group closer together and take frequent walks to avoid losing feeling in their limbs when they needed them most. When the third and final horn sounded out across the white hills, red cheeks lost their colour and men leaned forward, anxious to see the foe they didn’t know.  </p><p>As two dragons took to the sky, Sansa’s eyes were instead trained on the lines of troops beneath the keep. Uma Reed and Tormund Giantsbane had volunteered to take the command of the men there and were currently pacing back on forth of their palfreys, calling out to their assembled men. From the keep walls, an image of flowing red approached them. Lady Melisandre stood with a torch held out, said a few words to them, then made her way towards the first of the Unsullied.  </p><p>She had to blink several times not to blind herself when the lines erupted in flame. At first, she convinced herself they’d all been set on fire but, as her eyes adjusted, she realised in was their blades that were lit and not the men themselves. Satisfied, the red priestess turned back to the keep. With their blades blessed and horses impatiently pawing at the ground, Tormund raised his arm.  </p><p>Sansa looked across those men waiting his signal. She couldn’t make out any features but she knew many good men were amongst them. Many men who’d been eager to place themselves in the van and face the first onslaught. She sent her prayers to the Gods that few of them would fall on that day, even if she knew it was a great ask. Tormund’s arm shot down to his side.  </p><p>The armies charged. A great breath of fire fell upon the wights now coming into view. The battle had begun. </p><p>‘My Queen-’ Brienne spoke softly beside her, also entranced by the sight before them. ‘Your guests will be in your rooms.’  </p><p><em> Aye, my guests, as if I am doing them a service and inviting them to have dinner with me instead of wait out death.  </em> </p><p>She took the gauntleted hands of her sworn-sword and met her eyes with a hard gaze. ‘You have been at my side, good knight, since I began this journey North. You have seen my best and worst and stayed by my side regardless, even when your oaths to my mother were fulfilled. Never has anyone had a better protector or friend. Now you must leave my side and fight, <em> Lord Commander </em>.’ </p><p>Brienne had initially rejected her suggestion that she didn’t stay guard over Sansa in the Queen’s tower, eventually she’d trusted her better judgement and accepted.  </p><p>‘Stay safe, your Grace. The North needs you.’ Ser Brienne breathed hard.  </p><p>The two women regarded each-other for what both thought could be the last time. Sansa attempted to put everything that had gone unsaid into her expression. She literally owed the great woman her life and she knew she’d take her loss harder than many of the others who’d helped her throughout her life. With a final, strong nod, Brienne donned her helm and took away down into courtyard where she’d take the lead of the defence of the keep.  </p><p>Sansa turned back to the battle ahead of them. Too far to catch what was happening, the wights and men had fallen into each-other. All she could see was a mass of writhing bodies, some of which moving jerkily like something possessed. Greyworm’s smaller legion of men stood outside the barred gates of the keep, bristling as they watched their own brothers clash against the dead.  </p><p>In the distance, a sharp howl cut through the air, swiftly followed by the pounding of feet and hooves on packed snow. A pack of wolves, a selection of shadowcats far from home, great elk and a range of winged and clawed birds were swarming towards the action. At their head, if she squinted hard enough, she was certain she could see the outline of a figure riding the largest elk out front.  </p><p><em> Thank you, Bran.  </em>Her brother had assembled wargs from the wildlings, of which there were plenty, and they were gathered together in the Godswood, protected by archers and lancers led by Theon Greyjoy and Alys Karstark. Her brother had refused to listen to any of her concerns about being left in the open, stating it was the way it had to be, but she was glad to see him put to good use. She chose not to speculate on whether she could truly see someone riding an elk and looked away. The wights were pushing back hard against her own men and every minute they drew closer.  </p><p>‘I would wish you good luck,’ she began looking down upon her sister, ‘but I think you make your own luck.’ She pressed a gloved hand to her sister’s cheek. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’ </p><p>‘Who do you think I am?’ She smirked. ‘Jon?’ She started in the same direction Brienne had disappeared in. ‘Sansa, I’ll see you when this dead bastard’s actually dead.’  </p><p><em> Gods I hope she’s right.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Shall we?’ Tyrion began when her sister was out of sight. Sansa took one more lingering look over the carnage before them and turned sharply on her heel.  <em> My place is inside with the women and children. My place is inside with the women and children. My place is inside with the women and children.  </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> - </em>JAIME- </p><p>Jaime Lannister took his place in the courtyard, still swiping his red blade with his left hand, ensuring he hadn’t forgotten Bronn’s lessons. The sell-sword was with him too, currently making conversation with a group of sword-maidens from Bear Island that stood vigil over their Lady Lyanna who’d insisted on fighting. Podrick Payne had also forced his way into plate and mail, despite having a place offered to him in the Queen’s tower. The boy had persisted so, looking slightly pale but otherwise prepared, he stood with the others, watching the barred gates intently.  </p><p>They couldn’t see the state of the battle in the fields below but they could hear enough to get a good idea. The trebuchets swung back and forth constantly and the rumble of dragonbreath could just be separated from the general sounds of steel upon steel. The noise was getting louder. <em> They’re getting closer.  </em>He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword and bounced from foot to foot.  </p><p>‘Ser Brienne!’ From the battlements, Brienne appeared, dropping down into the courtyard and removing her helm. Underneath, she bore a sombre expression. ‘What’s is like?’ </p><p>‘Horrible.’ She spat out, tucking her helm underneath her arm. ‘The wights won’t stop. The keep pushing forward- before long-’ </p><p>He didn’t need her to finish what she was saying to understand her meaning. He barely needed her to say anything at all. He could read it all in her face. They’d reach the gate soon, they’d overwhelm the walls and they’d have to fight it out where they stood. He shivered.  </p><p>She unsheathed her sword in preparation, moonlight glinting off the polished red steel. He thought of the blade in his own hand. The two twin swords had once been one- the infamous Stark family sword Ice. His father had taken the Valyrian steel sword off Ned Stark after his death and re-forged it into two- one for his grandson and the other for Jaime. Jaime had given his own half to Brienne before she left, thinking it would do better defending its rightful owner that the man who stuck a spear through its old master’s leg. He’d taken the second half when Joffrey died. <em> Is it fate that Ice returned North to its defence?  </em>He tried to distract himself by the destiny of the once whole longsword but the noises from outside where growing closer.  </p><p>‘My lady?’ Ser Brienne had stood to attention when a swirl of skirts barrelled into the courtyard. The girl stopped before them and caught her breath.  </p><p>‘Aren’t you supposed to be with the Queen?’ He pointed the end of her blade towards her lightly but she didn’t show any signs of amusement.  </p><p>‘Is everything alright Lady Margaery?’ Brienne pushed his sword away and took hold of the Lady Hand by the shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t be out here.’  </p><p>‘H-have you seen Asha?’ She managed to splutter as her breathing calmed. He wanted desperately to ask why she needed to see the Kraken but something in her expression told him she had little time.  </p><p>‘She’s up on the battlements with the wildling spearmen.’ Brienne assured. Before either had the chance to question her, the girl said a short thanks, picked up her skirts and chased off in the direction Brienne was pointing in. Brienne shook her head.  </p><p><em> I hope she gets back before this bloody gate caves in.  </em>He thought to himself in the following silence. Words seemed to have escaped everyone around them as they listened to the incoming sound. Even Bronn behind them had given up with the Mormont girls.  </p><p>He’d been a man marching to war before but he’d never stood still and waited for it to come to him. <em> If I was half my age I would be out there in the van, riding them down and leading the men.  </em> But he wasn’t.  <em> I’m a knight passed his prime with one hand and too many thoughts in his head. Maybe I should have taken Pod’s space with Sansa.  </em> </p><p>A cry shot across the yard from the battlements, he couldn’t quite hear it but it was soon followed by the whirring of machinery as the gates were opened, just enough for three men at a time to pass through. As soon as the gap was created, men swarmed through, flooding into the yard and packing it tight full of bodies. At first, he readied his sword but his arm soon dropped when they drew close enough. They were out of breath, bleeding and injured but they were very much alive.  </p><p>The cogs were soon turned and the gate shut again. Men fell in behind it and held up their swords and shields in a secondary blockade. A mass of red hair ran up to them and took hold of his arm.  </p><p>‘There’s thousands of the fuckers.’ Tormund huffed. ‘They’ll be through soon.’ He wiped his brow on the back of his sleeve and spat red into the snow.  </p><p>Jaime looked around. ‘Where’s the Unsullied?’ The yard lacked their bronze helmets and long spears.  </p><p>‘Half dead, some still out there, holding them off.’  </p><p><em> So, </em> <em>  they’ll all be dead before long.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Shit!’ Someone shouted from the battlements. As they did so, the sky took on a strange orange pallor. Jaime fought forward, scaled the wall and peered over the top of Winterfell’s defences. The ring of stakes following the ditch dug out of the ground that surround the keep had been set alight. The Unsullied were stationed safely behind the blaze, spears picking off the wights who made it past the wall of fire. The ditches were filling up as bodies toppled over each-other and though some screeched as they fell upon the burning spikes, others were crawling over them, barely singed. He caught sight of Lady Melisandre as she stood amongst the Unsullied, hands over the flames, mouth moving silently.  </p><p>Whatever spells she had used to bring the fire held strong but the wights had nearly smothered them with their sacrificial lambs piling on top of the stakes. At first, only a few had snuck past and were soon impaled by a spear but the mass of the dead were gaining ground and it was only a matter of seconds before they were overwhelmed.  </p><p>The Red Woman looked upwards and her flaming eyes met his.  </p><p>‘Open the gates!’ He called into the air, not sure who was actually in charge of the lever. Those around him shouted their dissent. The Unsullied were to be sacrifices to the North just as the wights let their own lay down to leave a path for others to walk across.  </p><p>‘Open the bloody gates, that’s a fucking order!’ He roared over the nearly deafening screams and moans of the approaching dead. He marched towards a man standing over a lever that sat atop the gate and held his sword firmly towards his neck. The man looked down towards the massing bodies, back towards the sword and then down. With a curse Jaime lunged forward and pulled the thing himself, the wood scrapping along stone tiles as it opened. He heard the sound of more boots in the yard, waited several seconds then pulled it back again. He peered out over the edge, only the dead remained outside the walls.  </p><p>He dropped down into the yard and found his place once again beside Brienne and Bronn.  </p><p>‘You may be missing a hand but you’ve certainly got balls.’ The sell-sword grinned.  </p><p>‘Thank you, my Lord.’ The Red Woman passed by them, her head held high and her pale skin nearly translucent in the moonlight. ‘The Lord of Light will look down favourably on you tonight.’ With a knowing grin she slipped through the crowds and retreated within the safety of the keep, her crimson robes and hair trailing behind her.  </p><p>The wooden gates creaked. The crack of splintering pierced the air. Jaime took a deep breath.  </p><p> </p><p>-MARGAERY- </p><p>The Queen’s tower was nearly full by the time Sansa arrived with Tyrion Lannister. When the door was shut behind her, she ordered it to be secured on the other side. Margaery was seated by the window, looking out at the views of the frozen lands before Winterfell. Sansa’s window faced away from where the dead had emerged from, the world seemed peaceful and serene.  </p><p>Satisfied that everyone was accounted for, Sansa took her place in the centre of the room, removing her gloves and smoothing down her cloak. Margaery had pulled chairs from upstairs into the tower chambers, arranging them in a crescent that overlooked the room. She’d taken her place to the side of the central chair she took for a throne. Sansa understood well and sat down. Someone offered her a cup of wine, she held up her hand in refusal. Margaery took one instead, sitting back in her chair as the warm, spiced liquid glided down her throat.  </p><p>‘What are our chances?’ She leaned in towards Sansa.  </p><p>‘There were more than I expected. Even the men and dragons weren’t stopping them.’ The Queen voice was lifeless, desolate but her face maintained its assuring smile.  </p><p>‘They’ll breach the gates?’  </p><p>‘Almost certainly.’ She kept her voice low. <em> No one in here needs to hear this.  </em> </p><p>Margaery looked out across the pale faces huddled in the chamber with them. Young mothers with sprawling babes in arms, children sitting cross-legged, greybeards staring ahead with blind eyes. Sat by the door, Missandei of Naath kept her eyes downcast and her hands folded neatly in her lap.  </p><p>‘What’s wrong with her?’ Sansa noted the Dragonqueen’s advisor’s position, slightly separated from everyone else.  </p><p>‘Probably worried for Greyworm.’ Margaery explained, recalling the walks she spent with the girl, sharing tales. Tyrion nodded in agreement.  </p><p>‘The Unsullied commander? That is the curse of the councillor who falls for a warrior.’ Sansa spoke dreamily, perhaps taken by the similarity between Missandei’s fear and the tales of knights and their ladies she’d grown up on.  </p><p>Margaery looked up at her. <em> Sansa’s luckier than most. Almost all the women here are praying for someone they love fighting for them outside. Her brother is out there but her husband, whether or not she loves him, is safe within.  </em> </p><p><em> Who am I praying for? </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> I have to go.’ She stood abruptly and marched towards the door.  <em> Gods this is insane.  </em>She tried the handle but found it already barred.  </p><p>‘Marg?’ Sansa rose slowly, eyes wide and questioning.  </p><p>‘There’s something I have to do. There’s still time, yes? I’ll be quick.’  </p><p>‘I-’. Blue eyes met brown and much went unsaid. Margaery recognised her Queen’s remorseful expression and pitying look but, behind it, she saw a trace of understanding. Without a word she walked up to the door and tapped gently on the wood. It opened.  </p><p>‘Is everything alright, your Grace?’ One of the Stark guards asked from the other side.  </p><p>‘The Lady Hand needs to deliver a message. Let her pass and let her in again when she returns.’  </p><p>Margaery looked up towards the taller woman and offered a small smile. ‘Thank you,’ she managed. </p><p>‘If the wights break through before you return-’ she wavered, not wanting to finish her sentence.  </p><p>‘Then I’ll find the doors barred to me, I understand.’ She squeezed Sansa’s hand. ‘I’ll see you soon.’  </p><p>She took down the stairs and pushed on out of the solar, under curious gazes from the men that opened the doors for her, and began towards the courtyard. She dared a peek out over the walls – it was impossible to tell man from wight in the carnage below but she could tell they were a great deal closer to the keep than the trees they must have emerged from. She didn’t dwell on it, descending into the yard, brimming with bodies. She spotted familiar faces and made a line for them.  </p><p>‘My Lady?’ Ser Brienne saw her first and looked her in confusion. She couldn’t have felt more out of place in her gown surrounded by men and women in plate and mail, seething with anticipation.  </p><p>Brienne and Ser Jaime, standing nearby, posed her questions but she ignored them. ‘H-have you seen Asha?’  </p><p>‘She’s up on the battlements with the wildling spearmen.’  </p><p>She mumbled and quick thanks and took off in that direction, finding the nearest stairs leading to the battlements. She pictured the maps of Winterfell in the council rooms, picking out the spot the wildlings had been positioned. Following her instinct and the candle-lit memory, she passed the men lining the walls, crossbows loaded and barrels of oil primed. She chose not to look over the top again. <em> It’ll be terrible, I know. </em> </p><p>Asha stood in the middle of a throng of wildlings in one of the corners of the keep. Spears were set on shoulders in preparation but the wildlings weren’t quiet and composed in anticipation like the others she’d passed. They shouted curses down at the nearing wights and urged each-other on.  </p><p>‘Margaery?’ Asha turned around when one of the wildlings alerted her. She wore her usual leather armour but had elected to wear an iron gorget at her throat and a heavy helm. She lifted her visor and tilted her head.  </p><p>‘Take off your helm.’ She commanded, not allowing her voice to tremble. <em> That’s the first thing I’ve said to her in a week,  </em>she realised, trying, and failing, to not think of their last meeting.  </p><p>‘What?’ The ironborn woman dropped her head back in a laugh. ‘You should be inside.’  </p><p>‘Take off your helm.’ She repeated, daring a step closer. Asha stopped laughing and looked down upon her. With a shrug and a sigh, she reached both hands up and wrenched off the helmet. </p><p>‘Ther-’ </p><p>Margaery didn’t let her finish. As soon as the helm was off and in Asha’s hands, she took a second step forward, reached out a hand, and closed the space between them. Asha’s lips were chapped but she didn’t mind, she’d never tasted anything so sweet. The kraken’s eyes had shot open at first but, as their lips began to move as one, she closed than and leaned in towards her, soon taking control.  </p><p>Breathlessly, Margaery pulled away, her cheeks a deep scarlet. Asha’s face had paled and her expression dripped in confusion.  </p><p>‘I am not drunk.’ Margaery began firmly, pointing a gloved finger in her direction, ‘and I am not doing this just because I haven’t before.’  </p><p>Asha held up her hands but Margaery continued.  </p><p>‘And I am not doing this because I hate men. Those I’ve known have been terrible but others have also been sweet and kind. How could I hate them all?’ </p><p>‘Then what are you doing?’ She raised a thick eyebrow.  </p><p>‘What I want to do, maybe for the first damn time.’ She stepped forward and pressed a light kiss against Asha’s tanned cheek before stepping away. ‘Now you’re not allowed to die.’  </p><p>‘As you say, my Lady.’ Asha Greyjoy gave a mock bow and shook her head. By the time she looked back up, Margaery had heading back across the battlements, towards the Queen’s tower.  </p><p> </p><p>-SANSA- </p><p><em> Is this how Cersei Lannister felt during the Battle of the Blackwater?  </em> Sansa wondered to herself. She spent her time distracting herself by making idle chat, taking small bites from the spread she’d had brought from the kitchens, and calming any who showed signs of panicking. That was the last thing she needed -  <em> if one begins to worry, they all will and so will I.  </em>For a time, she sat the children around her chair and read them a story from one of her books. She tried to include the same levels of emotion they’d been told to her in but her head was elsewhere and her heart couldn’t bear the strain. Still, it calmed nerves for a time and earned her approving looks from the women in the room.  </p><p>Cersei had sat in a chair as she was now, sipping at a near never-ending supply of wine and growing increasingly more hostile. She began the night instilling hope in her ladies but when the Baratheons grew close, she ended it stealing out of the room and promising to have them all killed if Stannis made it to the keep. Sansa couldn’t imagine such an ending but she thought, to her own horror, of the possible fate of the small faces looking up to her. If the wights overwhelmed them, they’d be torn apart, mother’s screaming as they watched on. <em> Would a swift death be easier? Was Cersei just facing a cruel truth?  </em> </p><p>She hated herself for thinking it and quickly cast it aside. Instead, she let in more immediate concerns. <em> Where in the name of the Gods is Margaery?  </em>Her Hand had slipped away some time ago, promising to make it back before the keep became the battlefield but she was yet to appear.  </p><p><em> Crack </em> </p><p>The room fell into silence as the piercing sound of wood splintering struck each of them. A child let out a muffled cry but was swiftly pulled close to his mother’s chest and hushed. She braced to hear more.  </p><p><em> Crack. Crack </em> </p><p>The next sounds were even louder, Sansa felt herself grow hot beneath her clothes. She balled a hand into a fist. <em> Damn you, Margaery. </em> </p><p>After a few moments of blissful but terrifying silence, a great thump indicated the fall of the gates and was soon followed by the sounds of rushing bodies and the distant echo of steel meeting steel. The room erupted into murmurs and more of the children clung to their mothers or strangers in an attempt to block out the sounds.  </p><p>‘Please, please.’ Sansa stood and held out her hands to seize their attention. ‘You must remember that there are many experienced men and women fighting in the courtyard and my most trusted guards just below us.’ She attempted to assure them, as well it herself, but she failed on both accounts. Groups of people were still stuck close to each-other, trembling and speaking rapidly. Sansa couldn’t blame them, she stayed calm during the siege of King’s Landing but she had little to fear. She’d had the ability to lead prayers and calm the women around her because she didn’t care for anyone that was fighting. She might have even been rescued from her infernal prison if Stannis managed victory. Now she stood to lose three siblings, her closest friends and, less importantly but still on her mind, the Queen that would ride with her South.  </p><p>She glanced towards Tyrion for support but he too had paled was staring into the near distance. His brother was fighting for him, as was his sellsword friend, his old squire and the Queen he had travelled so far to reach. She sat back in her chair. <em> Nothing I can say will calm any of them.  </em> </p><p>At once she stood again and took herself over to her drawers. In the top, wrapped in its velvet covering, she removed a small lion broach.  </p><p>‘Tyrion?’  </p><p>‘Hmm?’ He slowly turned his head towards her, breaking his stare. She caught sight of Missandei of Naath rising from her seat by the door and placing herself beside her Queen’s hand. She often forgot the two of them knew each-other.  </p><p>‘Take this.’ She reached for his hand, pried open his fingers and dropped the broach into his palm. He looked down and chuckled dryly.  </p><p>‘I told you I don’t deserve it.’ His worry had hardened his tone.  </p><p>‘I don’t care.’ She closed his fingers around it, refusing to take it back. ‘I can take it back afterwards but you need it tonight. That lion gave me the courage I needed to do what I couldn’t do before. You may not feel like it but now you might have to be a lion.’ He released his fingers and examined the tiny version of his sigil, brushing his thumb along the miniature green eyes.  </p><p>‘Are you wearing yours?’ He fastened it to the breast of his doublet. She gestured to the nape of her neck where her broach was holding her own cloak together.  </p><p>‘It suits you.’ Missandei offered a small smile, admiring its tiny detail. ‘If my family had a symbol, I would never take it off.’  </p><p>‘When this is over, you can make your own. Hedge knights do it all the time. Why shouldn’t such a close advisor to the Queen Daenerys have an impressive coat of arms and a sigil to go with it. What would you have?’  </p><p>The girl thought it over for a while, her large brown eyes brightening a she was distracted from her thoughts of Greyworm and Daenerys. ‘A butterfly, I think. I don’t remember much about the island but there were so many different butterflies there. Me and my brothers would chase them until it grew dark.’ She smiled, her mind taking her back to that sweet memory. Tyrion also appeared pleased to see her looking less drawn and concerned.  </p><p>There was another crash outside. Sansa ignored it. She looked to the people surrounding her growing more inconsolable with every sound that slipped through the corridors and met them. <em> Cersei Lannister would ignore them. She’d call them weak-willed and laugh at their fear. She was feeling the same fear too. She hid it in her smiles and in her cups but I saw it all the same.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Let us pray.’ She raised her voice once again without standing. ‘We can pray to the old Gods, the new and whomever else you see fit. Hmm?’ She outstretched her hand to each side. Gilly, her boy propped against her on the floor, took one of her hands and Tyrion beside her took the other. Gradually the ring formed and, when everyone fell into silence, she closed her eyes and began. </p><p>‘There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.’  </p><p>‘Sansa?’ Tyrion pulled in close to her. ‘That wasn’t a prayer.’  </p><p>She opened her eyes and found the room staring back at her, lips slightly parted in questions they didn’t dare ask. She hadn’t meant to say that, she’d been thinking of a true prayer for all those fighting but her lips had moved of their own accord and she repeated the chanting of the Red Women she’d been the day before.  </p><p>‘I-I- um.’ She couldn’t find words to explain herself. ‘Excuse me.’ She stood and passed through those seated around her. She took herself into another room which remained empty which kept a desk and yet more books. She made a line for the window and looked out. This window, unlike the one in the main room, gave way to the courtyard, giving a full view of the battle unfolding beneath them. If it wasn’t for the window, she would’ve spread people out into her small office but she couldn’t risk the panic it could’ve given rise to. <em> I shouldn’t be looking either.  </em>Luckily it was too dark to catch any individual faces. She could tell the wights from the people by their writhing bodies and jerky movements but, apart from that, there was nothing to see. She was glad for it, otherwise she’d wind up glued to it, obsessing over every detail she could see.  </p><p>‘Didn’t know you’d turned to the Lord of Light.’ Tyrion closed the door behind him softly.  </p><p>‘I haven’t,’ she sighed deeply and dropped down into her chair. ‘I had a strange dream yesterday when I was by the weirwood. I heard some women, like Lady Melisandre, saying those words. They keep playing in my mind.’ She leant her head in one hand, staring at the veins in the wooden table.  </p><p>‘What do you think it means?’ He took the seat opposite.  </p><p>‘Probably nothing at all, the dreams of a Queen trying to not lose her kingdom in under two months.’ She met his eyes and smirked slightly. ‘But I hope it’s true. If someone really is fated to bring about the Night King’s end, I say let them get on with it.’  </p><p>He considered it for a moment. ‘And what if that’s you? Dreams can come to us for a reason.’  </p><p>‘I’m not a warrior.’ She scoffed, ‘and I can’t be Azor Ahai, Melisandre says he’ll be the ‘prince that was promised’. I’m no prince.’  </p><p>‘Actually, that’s a mistranslation.’ Missandei had slipped inside and stood by the door. Sansa didn’t mind that she had listened in, she didn’t seem to bear any foul intentions. ‘The prophecy you spoke of really means ‘heir’ instead of prince. They have no word that means prince or princess.’  </p><p>‘That doesn’t make me a warrior or a legendary hero. The Red Woman believes it to be Jon. That seems much more likely.’ She rested her chin on her intertwined fingers. She tried to imagine herself in Jon’s place, wielding a fiery sword and sticking through the heart of the Night King. She couldn’t do it. <em> That’s not me. The Gods would not so cruel as to burden me with an impossible task. I have no flaming sword and no hope of standing up to the Night King.  </em> </p><p><em> If that is my destiny- Winterfell will not last the night.  </em> </p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Long Night</h2></a>
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    <p>-JON- </p><p>Rheagal had made light work of the wights below, as far as he could see. Obscured high in the clouds, he rode his dragon above the army of the dead, swooping down for short burst of flames before flying back up and covering themselves. Daenerys had already lost one of her ‘children’-she wasn’t willing to let them fly in the open and lose another. The fire was working well but every time he surfaced beneath the clouds, the wights seemed only to grow in number, moving ever closer to the keep and overwhelming more of the men on the ground. Even the trebuchet, hauling flaming bags of rocks into their midst, seemed to have limited impact.  </p><p>He’d seed this before. At Hardhome, every attempt to slow the wights down or hold them back soon failed. They threw themselves from the top of a hundred-foot cliff only to rise at the bottom and continue on. Things which are not alive were particularly adept at avoiding death. Each time he swept down, he cursed, took out what he could, only to see nearly the same number continuing onwards. Daenerys took more risks, flying lower and for longer; she managed to avoid being taken down by the long ice-spears of the walkers but still hadn’t made a signiciant dent in their numbers.  </p><p><em> This battle is destined for Winterfell.  </em>He was certain of it. In the confined space, it might be easier for the dragons to launch volleys of flame and hit as many as possible. Still, he swung the dragon between his legs round and continued his repeated dipping and rising as the wights closed the distance.  </p><p>He’d been searching the ground for the Night King whenever he got the chance but, so far, he’d only seen his seconds marching towards the back of the mass of wights.  </p><p><em> Come on you bastard, where are you? </em> </p><p>Maybe it was the work of the Gods, but his questions were soon answered. Just as the wights were beginning to close on the keep, where his eyes were trained, a screech in the sky took hold of his attention. At first, he assumed Daenerys had been hit and frantically searched the sky for the black beast she rode. Instead, gliding coolly through the night air, a dragon of pale white, almost the colour of ice, emerged from a cloud formation. Sitting proudly on top, also looking down surveying the battle, the Night King showed himself.  </p><p>Jon didn’t know what possessed him but, finding Daenerys too far away to get her attention, he urged Rheagal to change direction, charging in a nose dive towards the re-animated beast. The Night King was prepared for such an attack and seamlessly barrel-rolled out the way. Jon pulled up quickly and swung back around to find the dragon’s mouth open, conjuring its blue flame. He pressed himself flat against Rheagal’s back and shot upwards to save them both a singeing.  </p><p>When he looked down, the dragon and its riders had disappeared below the cloud level. More cautiously this time, he dropped down and searched the sky for his opponent. Instead he caught sight of Daenerys who had now clocked her lost child flying nearby and had set Drogon upon him. They met mid-air, both far more controlled in their seats. Blue flame met orange but neither took the advantage.  </p><p><em> Focus, Jon.  </em> </p><p>The wights were at the gates now but a wall of fire was holding some of them back. He tried to pick out any of the walkers but they’d vanished from their army. Instead, he dropped down and unleashed seas of fire upon the wights, back and forth several times. At least this time he was making some kind of dent in their numbers. Still, they were clambering over themselves and the burning blockade and pushing onwards, hurling themselves at the gates and walls.  </p><p>A pained screech sounded from behind him, his head shot round, just in time to see the two warring dragons, which had vanished high into the clouds, coming back down again. The noise had been from Drogon, now flying with an injured wing. The Night King took the advantage, swirling around the beast, shooting quick volleys of flame before darting out of the way. Daenerys managed to dodge most of the onslaught but they were losing height quickly. Gripping his thighs tightly, he pulled sharply on Rheagal’s neck, turning fully in their direction.  </p><p>The dragon shuddered. Jon craned his head back. Surrounded by wights but moving away from the army now breaking through into Winterfell, a group of White Walkers stared up at him. One, who’s snarl Jon could just make out, was still holding out of arm from where he’d let lose the ice bolt. His aim wasn’t as exact as the Night King’s and it had only struck the top of his tail but Rheagal flicked and fussed in his pain. Jon wrapped his arms tighter and leaned in close towards the dragon’s head, murmuring towards him as he’d seen Dany do. He’d didn’t know a lick of High Valyarian so he assumed his assurances fell on deaf ears.  </p><p>‘Dracarys!’ He knew that word, he’s said it enough that night. Rheagal either didn’t hear or ignored him as, instead of launching fire towards the walkers, he dipped and spun. Jon had lost all control and resorted to clinging for his life. He tried to look in the direction Dany had been but the beast between his legs jolted and jerked too quickly for him to focus.  </p><p>‘Let me down. Let me down.’ He whispered more to the open air than to the dragon. However, somebody seemed to have listened as Rheagal dropped in the air abruptly, sending Jon’s stomach lurching. He peered over onto the ground. They still hadn’t landed but Jon couldn’t trust the dragon wouldn’t soar up again and fling him into the heavens. He judged the drop as best as he could, lifted himself up and leapt towards the ground.  </p><p>He landed in a roll, as he had planned, and thanked the Gods for the layers of snow cushioning his fall. He scrambled to his feet. Rheagal had already taken to the sky, back in the direction where Dany and the Night King had faced each other. He peered to see if they were still locked together but the sky was empty. He brought his attention back to the ground and surveyed his surroundings.  </p><p>He’d landed near the keep walls, now swarming with wights. Some had heard him jump and abandoned their attempt to scale the stone to fall in on him. Archers from above took some out but more took their place. </p><p>‘Protect the walls!’ He called out to the battlements.  </p><p>Jon unsheathed Longclaw.  </p><p><em> Here we go again.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>-ARYA- </p><p>The courtyard was completely flooded with bodies, alive and dead, dancing in a swirling mess of limbs and blood. Arya watched from above, Catspaw in her hand, legs set apart and planted onto the stone. A few heads rose up the battlements, clawing their way up, she gave a shout and several nearby spearmen helped her slash at their hands, pushing them back down. They landed one after the after, thumping as their falls were broken by the piles of wights already at the bottom.  </p><p>In the moments of stillness, she scanned the yard to pick out familiar faces. She spotted the red-haired wildling sweeping his dirk through a group of wights surrounding him. Nearby Lady Lyanna and her Bear Island escort were thrusting and jabbing swords outwards from their circle formation. Some Night’s Watch men had climbed to the battlements and were throwing hot oil down upon the ground outside. <em> If we keep this up, we’ll stand a chance – but they keep coming.  </em>Energy was high but she doubted it would last forever. Many of those fighting had been trained in castles by old Knights in the traditional ways. They knew how to dodge and parry and work lightly on their feet but against one, perhaps two enemies at once. Nobody had ever trained them to keep going against an endless stream of undead opponents.  </p><p>She thanked her father for her own training. She’d learned a lot since the dancing lessons with Syrio but he had taught her how to manage her energy. She could run for a long time without tiring, keep her arm raised and ignore the aching, stay on her feet for hours on end.  </p><p>‘Arya!’ She looked to her left. With a great rumble and door crashed down and a stream of wights burst through, running over each-other to reach them. The men were caught by surprise and, one by one, they fell and were torn apart. She unsheathed needle, keeping her dagger in one hand, and began her well-practiced routine of stabbing and leaping on the balls of her feet out of the way.  </p><p>The sound of the voice soon revealed itself, as Brienne of Tarth, her helm lost to her, appeared by her side. In another moment, Jaime Lannister joined them and they managed to cut back the incoming wights, them with their red blades and her with her dagger.  </p><p>‘Go to the Queen’s tower.’ Jaime huffed in the middle of a swing. ‘We’ll join you soon.’  </p><p>Without hesitation she left them and took off across the battlements in the direction of the tower where her sister was holed up. Her feet pounded the floor as she made it inside and, finding herself alone, she slowed down to catch her breath. Weapons still drawn, she padded down stairs into the main corridors of Winterfell. Inside, the battle was but an echo like a storm brewing in the distance. <em> It will come soon enough.  </em>She passed the Great Hall, the fires unlit and candles extinguished, and carried on towards the base of the tower.  </p><p>‘Arya!’ A hushed voice called out to her from behind a door. Guessing that wights hadn’t suddenly developed the ability to speak, she knocked gently on the wood. It opened to her with just a small creak, and she stepped inside.  </p><p>‘Oh, thank the Gods!’ The figure of Margaery Tyrell, only visible in the small stream of moonlight pushing in through the window, met her. Her normally perfectly controlled hair had fallen from its intricate braids and she appeared uncommonly nervous, wringing her hands. Her brown eyes retained their resolution as she stepped forward and clutched at Arya’s forearms. ‘I was trying to get back to the tower but they wouldn’t let me in. It’s my bloody fault. I’ve heard noises, I think the wights know they’re up there.’  </p><p>‘How did you know it was me?’ Arya asked as she poked her head back around the door. It appeared empty.  </p><p>‘You sound like a cat when you walk.’ She smiled faintly, ‘there’s no one else who makes so little noise.’  </p><p>‘Stay in here.’ She commanded to the taller, older girl. ‘Barricade the door and let no one in unless you are sure you know who it is. I’ll go see what’s happening. Brienne and Jaime said they’d be here soon.’ Something told her that wouldn’t be the case but she didn’t let her doubt show. Margaery nodded her head firmly and, when the door was shut behind her, Arya heard the sound of furniture being hauled across the floor towards the door.  </p><p>Margaery was right, when Arya reached the base of the tower, she found it surrounded by wights clawing and thrashing at the door.  </p><p>‘Hey!’ She stepped into the middle of the corridor, waving her arms above her head. Heads turned to see her. She jumped in place for a little while longer until she had them all moving away from the door towards her. Slowly, at first, she coaxed them away and, when they grew in confidence and scurried forward, she took off, leading them through a maze of corridors.  </p><p>When she stopped to get a breath, she found most were still in pursuit, clumsily but quickly darting around corners, keeping little distance between them. She looked around; she’d reached the end of the hall but there were doors to either side. She tried the first and cursed. Locked. The wights were a few feet away. She tried the other. It gave a little but something was holding it shut on the other side. She put all her weight into it but whoever was on the other side outmatched her strength.  </p><p>‘Fuck!’ She pounded a fist against the wooden panes and turned to face the wights nearly on top of her. <em> There’s too many. I can take out a few but they won’t stop coming. All it would take is one misstep.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Get in here!’ A hand the size of her head reached from the stuck door and took hold of her jerkin, hauling her off her feet and into the room. She landed hard on her knees but was up in an instant, sword raised to the stranger.  </p><p>‘Put that stick away, I saved your bloody life.’ Sandor Clegane moved into view, still pressed against the door. He regarded her blade nonchalantly, smiling as she put it away. On the other side of the room, watching a window, another familiar face turned towards her.  </p><p>‘Princess Arya.’ The deep tones of Beric Donaderrion crossed the room. When she took her surroundings in, she found they were in an annex of the kitchens. The room was mostly full of cupboards for storage and spare tables and chairs for large gatherings.  </p><p>‘Come over here, you bastard.’ The hound called out to the Lord who left his post and added his weight against the door. With the sheer number of wights on the other side, they were beginning to pry their way through. Arya stepped in between them, planted her feet firmly on the ground and pushed too but the two men above her only laughed.  </p><p>‘We need to go!’ She started towards the door that led into the kitchen.  </p><p>‘As soon as we let go, they’ll pour into here like shit from a bucket.’ The Hound snarled.  </p><p>The Lightning Lord looked between the two of them, his bright eyes illuminated even in the darkness. Something changed within him and his stone grimace melted away into a warm smile.  </p><p>‘Go, Arya. Use that Valyrian blade of yours. Clegane, you too.’  </p><p>‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Sandor spat in return. The door groaned under the pressure.  </p><p>‘You have unfinished business with your brother. There is nothing and no one waiting for me. Go on, old friend. Keep eachother safe.’ He shifted his weight onto his shoulder.  </p><p>‘Thoros is gone, there’s no coming back this time.’ Arya could not be sure but she swore she saw the Hound’s eyes soften.  </p><p>‘I know.’ Beric smiled dreamily. ‘If it is the will of the Lord of Light for me to die today, I won’t get in his way.’  </p><p>‘You’re not as much of a cunt as I thought you were.’ He chuckled low, beginning to remove himself from the door.  </p><p>‘From you, that is the highest compliment.’  </p><p>‘I’ll tell my sister of your sacrifice.’ Arya wasn’t exactly sure how to handle the situation but she hoped that would ease his way. The Lightning Lord nodded approvingly and returned his attention to holding back the door. Fingers and feet were beginning to force themselves through the gap. Lord Beric groaned and his boots were starting to slip across the stone flagstones.  </p><p>‘Let’s go.’ Once again, the Hound took hold of her arm and they ran together into the kitchens, thankfully empty, and back out into the corridors. ‘Where you going?’  </p><p>‘I have to go to Sansa.’ She had started in the direction of the Queen’s Tower.  </p><p>‘You go that way you come face to face with those fuckers again. We have to keep moving. This way.’ He dropped her arm, giving her a choice, and took off in the opposite direction, leading back round towards the great hall. A crash behind her took away her chance to think and her feet began, following close behind him.  </p><p> </p><p>-TYRION- </p><p>The noises below were growing louder by the second. <em> They’re right at the door now, trying to get in. Can they smell us? Can dead men smell anything?  </em>Sansa had remained in her small office adjoining her room where everyone else waited. He peered round the corner. Almost everyone had huddled together and someone was leading a sorrowful prayer.  </p><p>‘Gods, I’m no better than Cersei.’ Sansa was sitting at a large dark oak desk, her head at her fingertips. ‘In fact, I’m worse. At least she could bear sitting with us all for most of the time.’  </p><p>He’d heard of Cersei’s hostess act while he was down in the Blackwater. She’d worked her way through a barrel of wine and grown increasingly violent as far as he could tell. Sansa may have shown her nerves but he doubted she could ever match his sweet sister for making a scene.  </p><p>‘Please, Sansa. Never compare yourself to Cersei. It’s a <em> horrible  </em> image.’  <em> The least I can do is try to make her smile.  </em> </p><p>She exhaled deeply through her nose and rose from her seat, keeping her eyes set forward as she moved back into her own bedchamber.  </p><p>‘Apologies, my friends.’ He knew she was putting on her confident tone but it was convincing enough. ‘This is a time of great stress for us all.’  </p><p>When she finished, she took her seat again and spoke softly to Missandei nearby. The quiet resumed and he went to move next to her. He froze. <em> Why is it quiet?  </em>The groaning and thumping of the wights had filled the rooms just minutes before but now it sounded as if they were never there. He locked eyes with Sansa who seemed to be having the same realisation. She stood again and positioned herself close by the door, listening against the wood. The silence prevailed. Those in the room were beginning to notice. They looked around, newfound optimism bringing colour back to their drained faces.  </p><p>‘They’ve gone.’ Sansa whispered to herself. He joined her, giving her a warning look.  </p><p>‘Perhaps, but we can’t be sure.’  </p><p>‘If I go downstairs, I can ask what happene-’ </p><p>A great speech thundering throughout the keep, shaking the foundations, interrupted her. There was no way to tell which dragon it had come from but it sounded close.  </p><p>‘I’ll come with you.’ There didn’t seem to be much danger in going downstairs amongst the guards. No one had heard anything to suggest the main door had been broken down. She rapped on the door with the back of her knuckle and spoke to the man on the other side. Swiftly, the door swung open and the two of them began their descent into her solar.  </p><p>As in her bed chambers, it was near silent bar the slight sounds of scraping metal and low voices talking in hushed whispers. Still, he heard her release a held breath when they opened the door to the bottom and found everyone alive and well.  </p><p>‘Your Grace.’ The men stood to attention, bowing their heads. Sansa waved them off. He followed close behind her.  </p><p>‘There were wights outside, what happened?’  </p><p>‘We’ve been trying to make sense of it.’ One piped up in a thick Northern accent like Jon Snow’s. ‘There were there one moment, nearly taking the door down then they quieten down and we hear them shuffling away. Must’ve got bored or seen something else.’  </p><p>‘I heard a girl’s voice, my Queen, my Lord.’ Another approached. ‘Someone called out to them before they left.’  </p><p>‘Margaery!’ He heard Sansa mutter to herself. If Margaery did lead the wights away, he was glad to know she was alive but he doubted she’d stay that way for long chased by so many without armour or weapons.  </p><p>‘Thank you, sers.’ Sansa gave them a sweet smile which faded when she turned to him.  </p><p>‘It’s not safe here, let’s go upstairs.’ He offered her his hand. With one look to the door and a sigh, she took it and reluctantly let him lead her back onto the stairs.  </p><p>Before they reached the top, her hand shot forward and gripped his arm, nearly costing him his balance. When he turned, she gestured towards one of the steps and dropped down onto it. He took her meaning and sat beside her.  </p><p>The silence enveloped them. He could tell she was thinking – <em> I'd rather the wights than nothing at all.  </em>He remembered something.  </p><p>‘Here.’ He’d reached onto his belt where he kept a small wine skin. He’d filled it during the day with the intention to make it his last drink if they were overwhelmed. <em> How dire of me. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Thank you, but I won’t.’ She held up a hand to refuse him but he didn’t relent.  </p><p>‘One mouthful won’t turn you into Cersei, trust me. If it did, I’d have given it up years ago. Sansa, you’re shaking.’ She looked down as if only just noticing her tremor. With a half-smile she took the skin and tilted her head slightly backwards, allowing herself a few gulps of the red.  </p><p>‘Thank you, Tyrion.’ She met his eyes. ‘You were the best of them.’  </p><p>‘Of whom?’ He chuckled after finishing his own glug of wine.  </p><p>‘Everyone. You’ve been the only one to be kind to me without any motive. People have been good to me but they always have some reason to do so; to fulfil an oath or get justice. You could’ve been cruel or just disregard me completely but you didn’t.’  </p><p>‘We’re not dead yet.’ He reached forward and took her hand, stopping its shaking. He ached to know that he was the best person she knew- a man who murdered his father and old whore, a man who fought against her family, who she was forcibly married to.  </p><p>‘That doesn’t matter. I still wanted you to know that you matter to me.’ She looked back ahead, a shade of sadness overtaking her expression.  </p><p>‘And you matter to those people in there. You matter to your brothers and sister. You matter to Ser Brienne and to Jaime and to all those people who named you their Queen. You can’t be perfect but they don’t care.’  </p><p>‘But I keep feeling there’s something else I have to do. I’m holed up in here safe but something is calling to me and I don’t know what it is. I couldn’t sit still when Jon led the men to take Winterfell and now, I can’t keep still when it’s under attack.’ She was tapping the floor furiously with her boot.  </p><p>He reached across and gently placed his hand on her knee, ready to move it away if she wanted him to.   </p><p>‘You’re not Jon or Robb, you don’t have to be a hero.’  </p><p>‘But what if I’m meant to.’ Her voice was quiet, strained. ‘I keep hearing that damned prophecy and I know it can’t be a coincidence. I was bloody stupid and didn’t speak to Melisandre about it when I had the chance and now-’  </p><p>He pulled back slightly. He could hear the pain in her voice from the blame she was already piling on herself. <em> If we lose this fight and she survives, she’ll never stop blaming herself. Jon may her cousin, not her brother, but he had the same look in his eyes when he sailed to the wall.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>I can’t stop you, can I?’ He asked softly, squeezing her hand.  </p><p>‘If you told me to stay, I’d stay.’  </p><p>‘No. I won’t. Find Lady Melisandre now. It’s not too late.’  </p><p>She looked up, raising one eyebrow. ‘You think I should? I can’t fight like Jon and I don’t have dragons like Daenerys.’  </p><p>He reached his hand on her knee up and pressed it against the scarred half of her cheek. ‘But you’re stubborn enough to do it anyway, without the training or the dragons. I don’t know much about fate and destiny but if you really think you have to be out there- go.’  </p><p>‘I-’ she slowly nodded her head and, releasing his hand, stood. </p><p>‘You’ll be needing this.’ He handed her the half-full skin. She took one sip of it and tied what was left to her swordbelt. She took several thoughtful steps down the stairs before turning to him, now brandishing the dragonglass dagger Gendry had made for her.  </p><p>‘Take this. Give it to Missandei or Gilly or whoever needs it.’ She held it out to him.  </p><p><em> Is she completely mad? </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Sansa I cannot let you leave here without a weapon; we’ll be fine.’  </p><p>She continued to hold her arm up insisting. When he continued to refuse, she reached back to her swordbelt, within her folds of cloak, and pulled out a familiar blade.  </p><p>‘I have this one. You never told me it was Valyrian steel but Gendry told me immediately.’  </p><p>He recalled the day so sweetly now. Before she left to free Margaery, unbeknown to him, he’d presented to her a parting gift. A leather swordbelt and an ornate dagger he’d had made especially. In truth a smith had approached him after court, speaking of a supply of Valyrian steel he’d recently acquired. Tyrion never dared ask how. He wanted to know if the master of coin could find room in the royal budget for some new weapons – he couldn’t. Instead he commissioned the man himself to make a short blade fitting for a member of the small council and a woman of distinguished birth. The smith hadn’t quite known what that meant but he went on his way anyway, accepting the coin and presenting the dagger shortly after. He hadn’t seen it on her since they met again and, frankly, he had near forgotten about its existence.  </p><p>‘You still have it?’ His eyes flicked between the two blades in her hands, both capable of delivering a swift death to a wight or walker alike. He reached forward and accepted the dragonglass knife, wedging it in his belt.  </p><p>‘Of course, I do. I don’t know what I’d do without it.’  </p><p><em> She kept my broach and the dagger.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>I’ll see you soon, Tyrion.’ Her smile drooped slightly as she turned back again. </p><p><em> She kept my broach and the dagger.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Sansa!’  </p><p><em> She  </em> <em> kept </em> <em>  my broach and the dagger. </em> </p><p>The stairs were narrow and steep. Being two steps above her, he found himself matching her in height. For once, he didn’t need to look up to meet her bright blue eyes. Later, he couldn’t say what possessed him, desperation or shock or something else that had been brewing for a long time but when she turned around at the call of her name, he lost himself.  </p><p>In one swift movement, he stood at the very edge of his stair, reached a hand forward and rested it on her neck, his fingers curling and resting at the back where her spine met her head. Gently but firmly, he pulled her forwards and, leaning in himself, pressed his lips against hers.  </p><p>His mind screamed out at him to stop. ‘<em> You’re only doing this because you think she’s marching off to her death. You haven’t had a woman in years. She’s ten and eight and you’re ten years her senior. Daenerys stands between us.’  </em> </p><p><em> But there’s nothing between us now.  </em> </p><p>He’d expected her to jump back, to gasp and send her hand across his cheek. He could feel her trembling beneath but soon realised she made no move to push him off and, gradually, her lips began to move with his. Her slender fingers found their way onto his cheeks, their light touch lighting flames upon his skin. </p><p><em> I could stay here all night.  </em> </p><p>But he also knew he couldn’t. He released her neck and took a step back. He watched on in awe as her blue eyes slowly flicked open, regarding him silently.  </p><p>‘You don’t have to be the hero, Sansa.’ He reminded her. His voice was sharper than he intended and it came off as a command.  </p><p>‘I know, but someone does.’  </p><p>Leaving her riddle hanging in the air, she turned quickly, not giving him a chance to change his mind and stop her, and jumped down the steps two at a time. He waited until he heard the door at the bottom open and softly close.  </p><p>He looked down at the black dagger at his hip and prayed to the Gods she wouldn’t regret not taking both.  Eventually he started back up the stairs. The guard at the door cast a strange look over him when he returned alone but he waved him through nonetheless.  </p><p>Faces turned to him when he entered.  </p><p>‘Where’s Sansa?’ Gilly was the first to speak up, asking the question on everyone’s mind. She’d taken a seat beside Missandei and the two women appeared to have been in deep conversation before he entered. Her boy’s hand was still wrapped around one of the Naath girl’s fingers.  </p><p>‘Your Queen has gone to fight for you.’ He addressed the room. It was partly true. ‘She has a <em> plan </em>.’ It was much more difficult to pass that off with sincerity.  </p><p><em> If they consider a plan something thought of in seconds under the influence of strange dreams and a history of stubborn and fool-hardy family members, then yes, she has a plan. Otherwise, she’s running into a battle with nothing but a tiny blade and riddles in her head. But then again, I haven’t had a plan in years, nor a scheme, or even a good plot- and I still haven’t died.  </em> </p><p><em> Sansa’s had the luck of the Gods since she left King’s Landing, we should all pray it doesn’t run out.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>-JON- </p><p>He’d made his way back inside the walls of the keep, slugging through the hordes of dead as they piled up around him. He thought the odds were stacked against him when he found himself amongst them outside but he soon knew better. The yard had filled with so many bodies, he could barely see stone. He walked across wights, strewn with their limbs stuck out at all angles, and Northern men alike.  </p><p>‘Little Crow!’ A wheezing caught his attention. He swiped his blade through the back of several wights and, freed from their grabbing hands, Tormund Giantsbane pushed the remainders away, yelling and beating his chest and they fell back among the rest of the dead. They had no time to celebrate, more wights were soon upon them. With a wild snarl, Tormund took Jon’s back and they hacked and slashed automatically until the yard fell still. Jon breathed deeply.  </p><p>He took the chance to look around. Up on the ramparts, a few strays were still clambering their way up the walls but were soon thrown back down again with a few loose arrows or a bag of rocks. The remaining men he could see were all taking their time to catch their breath.  </p><p><em> Is that all?  </em> </p><p>No more were coming. The floors were littered with bodies but perhaps they were done.  </p><p>‘Jon!’ The smiling face of Jaime Lannister appeared from under an archway, swinging his sword by his side. Behind him, arm around the Southern squire Sansa had brought North, the now Ser Brienne joined them. She set Podrick Payne against the wall and straightened herself.  </p><p>‘Where are the others?’ She asked shortly. The yard was uncommonly empty and quiet.  </p><p>‘Most of us got separated.’ Tormund’s blade shot downwards, stabbing a wight that was not quite dead and had crawled to the surface. ‘So many went down, just got back here myself.’ He brushed off his layers of furs and hides and ran a hand through his mop of fiery hair.  </p><p>‘We saw your sister, snow.’ Lannister spoke up, ‘she went off in the direction of Sansa.’  </p><p>‘Arya’s fine.’ He had no fears for the safety of his youngest sister. She’d changed in her absence but, at her heart, he recognised the unruly child he’d grown up beside. She shared the stubbornness of the Starks and energy that couldn’t be matched by anyone he knew.  </p><p>He couldn’t be so sure about Sansa or Bran. His sister would be safe in her tower room but he remembered their re-taking of Winterfell. Against everyone’s advice she was compelled to fight with no experience. <em> She’s as stubborn of the rest of us but in far more danger.  </em> </p><p><em> It’s too quiet.  </em> </p><p>When he first landed, all he could hear were the screams of the wights as they encased the keep but now only the bodies stood as proof of their presence. The tension in the air remained thick. He kept up his guard.  </p><p>It wasn’t long before he was proven right. The ground beneath their feet was beginning to shake as if it were coming to life itself. He half expected to see the animals the wargs had summoned coming towards them but they’d only served to slow down the wights and had long fallen. Instead, arms emerged from the sea of limbs. Heads twisted back into place, bone by bone. As the living pushed themselves against the wall, the writhing sea of the dead rose to meet them.  </p><p>Blue-white eyes, illuminous in the moonlight, blinked back at them. <em> The Night King has brought them all back, Northmen, Unsullied and all.  </em>He spotted fresh furs and bronze caps making up the numbers of the new army.  </p><p>Somewhere above, a dragon screeched.  </p><p><em> Fuck. </em> </p><p>Viserion landed on top of the ramparts, brushing nearby men aside and crumbling the stone where its great feet made contact. In another moment, he beat his wings hard and rose, landing on a different part of the keep. He opened his fanged mouth and released his blue flame onto the stone walls of the keep. Jon wanted to watch longer but his sword was needed. His long blade swung back and forth across the newcomers as they stumbled blindly in their direction. Their small band dealt with the first lines easily and he muttered a thanks to be beside such experienced swords-men and women. <em> Even the most experienced fighter can’t keep going forever and they keep coming.  </em> He remembered his trip North. He’d completely tired out when the Night King brought him to his knees. It wasn’t the cut to his shoulder that dealt the final blow, it was his own arms as they failed to meet their mark. Then he’d only made it out alive for the sudden appearance of a legion of wild creatures and his uncle upon a giant elk.  <em> They're gone now, no one’s coming to get you.  </em> </p><p>The next burst of dragonsbreath brought with it terrible screams, soon followed by the putrid stench of burnt hair, clothes and, most pungently, flesh. He couldn’t see where the dragon was aiming but he caught the side of the beast out of the corner of his eye.  </p><p>He didn’t want to leave the others to the cold hands of death but the dragon was destroying the keep and those within it. Brienne, Jaime Tormund and even the injured squire could handle themselves but if Viserion continued, those hidden inside would be crushed. He turned and began carving out a path for himself, using his elbows and legs when he had to knock away the grabbing hands and biting teeth that took immediate interest in him as he separated himself.  </p><p>As soon as he made it into the castle proper, he picked up his speed, no longer fearing tripping over a stray body part. He knew they were in pursuit but their clumsy limbs couldn’t outmatch his legs as he pounded through corridors. With the next guttural grumble, he turned towards the noise and found himself in the keep’s second yard, largely used for training. Unlike the main courtyard, it hadn’t seen as much violence but he could tell where the dragon had leapt from by the tumbling walls. He looked behind himself. Any wights that had been in pursuit had lost interest.  </p><p>Viserion came crashing into the yard before him, wings spread and shaking his great flank in irritation. Jon put that down to the spears sticking out of his underside. Not deep enough to piece his thick scales but enough to cause him pain. He took a chance and looked upwards to see Asha Greyjoy alongside her wildling spearmen, weapons already ready to be launched again.  </p><p>He faced the dragon head on, holding Longclaw out to his side.  </p><p><em> Daenerys says fire cannot kill a dragon. Let’s hope she’s right.  </em> He was a Targaryen, at the very least by blood, which explained away an awful lot of the questions he’d held onto about himself. Daenerys had told him the story of her rising from the ashes of her husband’s pyre, hair singed away but otherwise unburnt and carrying three dragons. But he knew the same couldn’t be true of him. Every time he flexed his  hand  he knew the truth of it – the faded scars across his palm served as a living reminder of the power of fire. He’d taken hold of a burning lantern to save the life of his Lord Commander and had needed poultices and wraps on his hands for weeks.  <em> She walked out of a pyre without a scar. Fire would kill me just as much as it can kill anyone else.  </em> </p><p>To answer his thoughts, Viserion throw a ball of fire towards him as he approached. Now riderless, the beast attacked randomly and without direction, its white eyes bulging and darting around for a new target. Before he could summon another bout of pure heat, Jon caught him across his side. The dragon barely noticed the scratch and continued to prepare its lungs. Jon cursed, dropped behind an overturned cart, and let the fire stream overhead.  </p><p>He rose again, this time heading for the tail end. From there, taking his sword in one hand, he clambered onto the beast’s back as if it were Rheagal. He even patted his flank in an attempt to sooth him. It only worsened the creature’s foul mood and the dragon bucked on its hind quarters like an unruly horse and Jon landed hard on the packed snow. His knee must have met uncovered stone when he fell because, as he tried to stand, it sung in pain and buckled beneath.  </p><p>Using the cart to help him up, he stood on one foot and took his sword back in both hands. With a few practice steps so get through the sharp pain in his leg, he began again towards Viserion, if only to distract him now. Instead, he found himself dropping quickly back to the floor as another round of flame soared above him.  </p><p>He rose again.  </p><p>And again. </p><p>And again.  </p><p>The beast wasn’t relenting. It took every swipe he delivered and batted him back with a stretch of a leg and a spurt of blue fire. The cart Jon hid behind had nearly completely blackened and had already split in two. He now took to concealing himself behind a stone archway but he knew, if Viserion caught him, he wouldn’t be able to cover himself in time. Every step he took shot needles up and down his leg but he took it. Whispering his gratitude for Asha’s men who continued to distract the dragon with their spears long enough for him to rest for a few seconds at a time.  </p><p>‘Stand down!’ A voice called over him. He looked to see the face of the Kraken princess just visible through her lifted viser. She’d led the wildlings into the training yard and them took over harassing it and ducking in time for each blast. Jon pushed himself back up.  </p><p>‘My Lord!’ A familiar voice caught in the air, a voice high and loud and not belonging in the midst of battle. ‘Help him up.’ He heard the words but wasn’t sure what they meant. When he felt arms behind him begin to life, he realised it wasn’t an order to him.  </p><p>He was heaved on the back of a brown horse that appeared unaffected by the hulking, steaming creature feet away. When he leaned forward and caught site of the horse’s empty eyes, he understood.  </p><p>Instinctively, his arms wrapped around the waist of the rider and, even in the darkness, he recognised her flowing red cloak and hood.  </p><p>‘I have to stay!’ She’d already set off away from the yard and he found himself looking behind them to the shrinking dragon. ‘That dragon will kill everyone.’ </p><p>‘You included.’ She spoke lowly. ‘It will only stop when the master that made it is killed, you know this.’  </p><p>He recalled their trip beyond the wall. When coming across a small group of wights and a walker, they found that killing the walker had killed all the wights, bar one. <em> If this beast was brought back to life by the Night King, that’s where we’re heading.  </em>He let the red priestess drive them forward but turned his head to catch a glance of the courtyard. Beneath mounds of bodies, he saw the movement of red hairs and flailing arms. He saw, against the wall, Sers Brienne and Jaime forcing off the wights only to be faced with another. He couldn’t see anymore. His instinct told him to jump off the horse and lend them his sword but something kept him firmly seated and his arms stuck around Melisandre.  </p><p>He knew precisely where they were going. <em> The  </em> <em> Godswood </em> <em> . Bran said it was him they wanted so that’s where the Night King will be. That’s where he’ll die too. Or I will.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>-DAENERYS- </p><p><em> He’s smiling.  </em> </p><p>Daenerys hovered in the air, Drogon furiously beating his wings to keep them still. Beneath them, alone in the snow, the Night King met her eyes. She’d given him enough dragonsbreath to burn down a castle but, when it cleared away, he remained standing in place, smiling. Her stomach lurched dangerously at that. Fire had been enough for the wights she encountered but their leader was unscathed. She remembered the tales Jon spun of his encounters – <em> maybe he can’t be killed at all.  </em> </p><p>This man, this creature was the one who shot her child from the sky and now he grinned upwards at her failure. Her blood boiled and she gritted her teeth hard.  </p><p>She could at least be glad he’d been thrown off Viserion but now even that seemed to offer her no real advantage. She could no longer hear the throws of battle on the ground. The fields were littered with the dead and no one could be seen scrabbling up the walls. <em> Why is he smiling? </em> </p><p>Calmly, like a man just woken from a long sleep, he turned towards Winterfell and began walking. He took long, almost lazy strides as he moved away from her, his arms slowly rising above his head. She watched on, entranced by his pace, keeping Drogon calm and still beneath her.  </p><p>His purpose was soon clear. As his hands reached their peak, fully extended to the sky, the bodies that lined the snow-packed ground rose with him, life brought back to their cold, dead frames. She felt sick. Her Unsullied rose from their places of rest, some still with their spears and caps, and now turned to their new king and followed him towards the keep. She gripped her dragon tightly and urged him onwards.  </p><p>Drogon disappeared from beneath her. Scales turned to air as she felt herself falling, the wind knocked from her. She spun to the ground, landing in a heap of cloaks and furs. Even covered in thick, soft snow, the fall was hard and she could feel where the bruises would soon form. She took several deep breaths, jaw still clamped shut, and pushed herself onto her arms then to her knees and feet.  </p><p>Cloaks spinning around her, she searched the open land. Yards away, curled around his tail, Drogon lay. She started towards him with urgency, only relaxing when he snorted in derision and shook his dark head. He tried to shift himself to let her mount him but he groaned when he moved. She rushed forwards and lay a hand on his neck. Up close, she could see the source of his pain. The wing laid across him fell limp at his side. She ran her hand along its red flesh, feeling the pain as if were her own.  </p><p><em> It wasn’t the Night  </em> <em> King, </em> <em>  I was watching him.  </em>She scanned the skies. Wings outstrecthed, flying away from them, Viserion caught on the wind. That made sense to her, what else could pluck a dragon from the sky so easily?  </p><p>She met Drogon’s dark eye. ‘Stay here, don’t move.’  </p><p>She looked around them, the newly born wights were beginning to take notice of her. Heads flicked around at alarming speeds and soon, just as she unsheathed her short sword, they started their clumsy legs in her direction. She gripped the hilt tight. She’d never fought a man before, let alone a sea of swarming monsters. Up into recently, such foul beings were little more than tales of Westeros she’d missed out on growing up in Essos. When she made her intention to reclaim her home known, she expected to sit atop her dragon as men met men in the field of battle, not stand alone as tens of wights furiously tried to tear her apart.  </p><p>Men would be different. Whether or not she was trying to take a throne, her blood and position would still warrant her honourable treatment. Death by the blade of my enemy in a one on one fight or at the hand of an executioner. If her brother lived, she might have even survived as a hostage. The wights could not tell her from anyone else. They would offer her no such leniency and no glorious death.  </p><p>She planted her feet hard. Drogon did his best, stretching out his neck and coating many of the incomers with fire. His reach was weaker than normal. Even if he wasn’t injured, he couldn’t go one forever. He was already beginning to tire when she rode him. Now the energy drained from him and he barely held them back.  </p><p>‘My Queen!’ Someone shouted to her. He circled around the main bulk of the dead, his sword slicing through them as he went, and reached her side, panting hard. ‘I saw you come down, are you hurt?’ Ser Jorah Mormont reached one of his hands out and laid it softly on her arm. She couldn't have wished for a better protector. She wanted to ask what was happening to everyone inside or if he’d seen Jon but the groaning was growing louder.  </p><p>‘I’m fine.’ She answered simply, raising her sword. <em> I wish that were true.  </em> </p><p>Her bear knight fell into his usual rhythms quickly, expertly handling his blade and cutting back anyone who drew too close to her. He bounced on his feet like a man half his age, thrusting and jabbing, turning and slashing, fighting for the both of them. Daenerys felt useless, the blade in her hands felt foreign to her. Jorah moved like his sword was part of his arm but she could barely lift hers and direct it in the desired path. Her aim was off, the sword weighed heavy in her hands, she nearly cheered when she actually caught a wight across the face.  </p><p><em> On  </em> <em> Drogon </em> <em>  I’m the dragon but on the ground I’m still a little girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Jorah!’ Three U nsullied  wights marched towards them, eyes bright blue, armour pierced and skin torn but otherwise appearing as alive as she recalled. Two carried their spears whilst the middle carried a blade in his hands. These were different than the other wights. There was an intelligence in their cold expressions.  <em> Perhaps those recently brought back are still themselves, in a way.  </em>She hoped she was wrong; the Unsullied were a lethal force trained to kill nearly from birth.  </p><p>Jorah turned his attention to them and Daenerys did her best to fend off approaching wights with quick slashes that kept them at a distance. Beside her, she could hear her bear Knight’s laboured breaths. He acted like a young knight still but his age had caught up with him. No man could go on forever. He raised his sword to the Unsullied and they began.  </p><p>Desperately, she wanted to watch them dance their dance, swooping and crashing as they locked together. Instead she had to face her more immediate enemies. Barely held back by dragonfire, they led an infinite charge against her. She pushed them back, cut a few down but barely had a chance to breathe before another was upon her. She couldn’t even see how her knight was faring. All she could hear was steel meeting steel, steeling meeting armour, steel meeting flesh.  </p><p>She turned her head, ducking out of the way of the nearest wights. One of the Unsullied lay on the floor but Jorah was also on his knees, clutching his side. She placed her hand on his shoulder and bent down to look over him. She moved to offer him a hand but slowly retracted when she saw the deep scarlet, black in the darkness, oozing from his wound. The blood seeped through his gloves and pooled on his lap.  </p><p>At the sight of that she fell hard on her knees, clutching at his head which she pressed tight against her shoulder.  </p><p>‘N-no... no.’ Her eyes welled up as she rocked him back and forth. The dead were drawing closer and the two remaining Unsullied still brandished their weapons. She shut her eyes tight and buried her face in his short-cropped hair. She felt a hand grab at her cloak, staining the pristine grey with a deep red print. Other hands were beginning to claw at her, unfamiliar hands, hands no more than finger bones wrapped in sheets of peeling skin.  </p><p>In her arms, he abruptly seized up, wheezing as he gulped for air. Then he spluttered, spraying hot blood down her before falling limp. She continued to cling to him but had the sense to draw her blade and wildly slashed it around her, hoping it would meet at least one mark.  </p><p>Their nails ripped her clothes, tore at her exposed skin. One of her sleeves was ripped clean off and, at the opportunity, the nearest wight dragged his nails across her flesh. She cried out at that; a piercing scream she didn’t know she could produce. Her face was covered in tears, blood and the spittle flinging from their rotting mouths. She shut her eyes tight again and the red door appeared before her eyes. In her mind she walked towards it. Someone was calling to her from inside. A woman. <em> My mother?  </em>Her hand rested on the doorknob.  </p><p>‘Daenerys!’ When she opened her eyes, she was alone. No red door, no inviting gardens within, and no wights. Jorah still lay still across her lap but the dead that had encased her, ripping and tore at her, also lay prone, encircling her. She looked up.  </p><p>High on a white horse, red hair loose about her shoulders, the Queen in the North met her eyes.  </p><p>‘Here.’ An arm was held out to her. Reluctant to release her bear knight she hesitated, brushing her hand through his hair once more. ‘We have to go.’  </p><p>Dany took it, setting him down carefully and letting herself be pulled up onto her feet. When the support was removed, her legs wobbled beneath her but a quick arm underneath her kept her standing. She shook her head. She glanced upwards to whoever had helped her up. She didn’t recognise him. He was tall, dark of hair and beard and drawn. Even in the darkness she couldn’t help but stare at his pale skin that clung to his features like a fresh corpse. By the flaming mace in one hand she supposed he’d been the one to lay waste to the dead. <em> How can a man look so close to death himself take down all of those wights? </em> </p><p>She didn’t get a chance to ask her questions. The stranger lifted her like she weighed nothing and dropped her on the horses back. Her eyes shot back to Ser Jorah, barely distinguishable from the other bodies. Following her gaze, the man marched backwards, picked Mormont up, and swung him carefully across one shoulder.  </p><p>‘I’ll get him back.’ He spoke in a deep, gruff, Northern accent. She nodded her thanks and, without a word, Sansa Stark mumbled to the horse and they sped away, back in the direction of Winterfell.  </p><p>‘What’s happening?’ She managed, leaning closer to the Stark Queen. She settled her tone. ‘I demand to know.’  </p><p>‘There’s something you must know,’ she began, her voice cracking, ‘and it might just save us all.’  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dialogue taken from 08x03</p><p>The next chapter is almost ready so will also be up tomorrow!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Prince that was Promised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>-SANSA-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d walked these halls a thousand times before. She walked with Jeyne, with her mother, with a Septa and, on the odd occasion, with her brothers or Arya. These halls led to the great hall and kitchens so they were always bustling with busy people, day or night. She could say whatever she liked to her companion and not a word would be heard by anyone else. When she walked alone she imagined herself to be a princess, deep in a mental soliloquy. She’d practice her walk, slow and precise, head held high, shoulders back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Later those same halls became hers. No longer was she a princess wandering but a </span>
  <span>Wardeness</span>
  <span> with a clear destination. Then she was a Queen in her castle. Heads bowed to her, chattering hushed and she didn’t need her imagination anymore. The stones she walked were hers, the walls belonged to her and the people gave themselves to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now they belonged to the night. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She walked with careful, delicately placed </span>
  <span>steps;</span>
  <span> knife held in two hands close to her chest. Her eyes darted at each doorway and arch. Her breathing hitched at every small sound. Alone, she wasn’t a Queen or a </span>
  <span>Wardeness</span>
  <span> or a Princess or a Lady, she was a girl with a dagger and no plan. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She followed her feet, keeping herself away from open spaces but otherwise letting her instinct guide her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to find Lady Melisandre. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She told herself as she walked. It was the only justification for willingly submitting herself to the terrors outside she could muster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She could be dead or on a horse fleeing. I could never find her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yet she walked on. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear the sounds of battle outside. Whilst in her rooms they’d sounded distant, a world away, here they surrounded her. The screams and shouts were suffocating, and every groan and cry of the dead men sent chills through her. She tried to drain everything out by thinking particularly loudly but the outside world wormed its way in nevertheless, like frost creeping up a window. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>To her own surprise, she’d found her way to the Great Hall. She hadn’t been concentrating on the path she took but it was the same one she’d walked so many times before – from her rooms to the hall to break her fast or watch her father take court. She tried to push the door but found it barricaded on the other side. She drove her fists hard into the wood, calling out to anyone inside. She raised her voice to be heard but kept it low to avoid unwanted attention. She was yet to see a wight. That struck her as strange. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She nearly fell inside as she beat her hand upon the door that was no longer there. An arm reached toward her and steadied her from the other side and the oak slammed shut behind her. Without looking up, she helped them replace the chairs and tables built up around the doors. When the work was done, she looked the owner of the arm. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Clegane?’ The Hound was making his way back to the firepit erected in the centre of the room, burning old timbers. He spoke a gruff greeting and sat hard on the floor, keeping a fair distance from the flames. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hands over the fire, muttering under her breath eyes closed, the Red Priestess sat up on her knees, red cloak torn and hair no longer perfectly placed. At Sandor’s crash to the ground, she opened her eyes and turned her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace?’ She stood at once, brushing down her soiled skirts and moving forward to greet her. ‘I knew you would come.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The flames told her.’ The Hound muttered in derision from his seat. Melisandre ignored him and took Sansa’s arms in her hands.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you need?’ Her glare was intense, the red ruby at her throat pulsed with light. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m here or why I needed to see you. Tyrion’s right: I wanted to be a hero like Jon but I don’t know what happens next. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve seen things,’ she began with uncertainty, ‘strange dreams and visions. I thought you could make sense of them.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you thought now was the perfect time?’ The Hound chuckled. He’d found himself a tankard and drained its contents. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have to know if it’s important.’ She ignored him too. ‘It’s about Azor Ahai.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The woman stopped and drew her hands away. Sansa knew Melisandre had spent most of her life seeking out the Prince that was Promised, much to the mockery of others. She imagined it was strange to hear his name from another’s mouth. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I heard the prophecy and, forgive me if I’m wrong, but it seems like tonight has to be the night.’ She continued.  ‘There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him. This is the longest summer recorded and darkness has indeed fallen on us.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The prophecy will be fulfilled and we will be saved. Your brother just needs to find his way.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa nodded. That seemed a nice solution – to sit back and let destiny take its course- but something didn’t sit right within her. If that was the case, why had she seen the red women around the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span>? Why did their words haunt her and why did she leave the safety of the tower? She could still taste the wine from Tyrion’s lips – </span>
  <em>
    <span>why did I go</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then at least can I ask a favour.’ Sansa broke from her thoughts. She’d heard the bark of a dog outside and something inside clicked into place. Tywin Lannister spoke about a prophecy being fulfilled when she accidently stumbled across him when </span>
  <span>warging</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must know something more but I didn’t try to find him before, now I have to make sure of it. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You need King’s blood for your magic, yes?’ The priestess nodded. ‘Will Queen’s blood do?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you asking of me?’ Sansa had handed the woman her steel blade. Melisandre admired </span>
  <span>its</span>
  <span> decorated hilt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Extra focus. There’s someone I need to speak to but I need to be certain I will find them. Is there anything you can do?’ She removed a glove and held out her bare palm. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Melisandre’s eyes flicked between the blade and the </span>
  <span>outstretched</span>
  <span> hand, her expression dripping in confusion. Sansa said nothing more so, eventually, she submitted and drew the edge across the flesh which parted and bled red. Sansa winced slightly at the pain but it soon faded away. The Red Priestess took her other hand and led her towards the fire, as instructed, Sansa lifted her cut hands and squeezed several drops into the flames. The Red Woman muttered a few words in a foreign tongue and the fire dipped into a deep crimson. The Ruby around her neck nearly came alive with light. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you help me?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Melisandre’s eyes had grown wide. She didn’t answer but took the bare hand in both of her own and closed her eyes. When she didn’t reply, Sansa closed her eyes too and focused, as she had with Bran, on the puppy brought to her one Summer’s day. It was a bright evening by the time the boys returned from the execution. It was the first Bran had been allowed to go to. She’d spent the day embroidering a new skirt whilst Arya took the opportunity to take up arms with a practice sword. They’d both been called to the kennels and Robb and Jon handed them each a pup and explained their discovery. Ned Stark had lectured them on the new responsibility but Sansa wasn’t listening- she was entranced by the </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> nestled in her arms. Its blue eyes were a match for her own and her grey coat was similar to the fabric she’d been sewing the morning. The name ‘Lady’ came to her immediately. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lady had grown faster than anything she’d known. She ate more than Sansa and could run around for hours in the woods with her siblings. Even so, in the evening, she’d sit obediently under the table and wait for scraps then stretch out on the rug in her room and sleep next to the fire. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was no longer in the Great Hall and, this time, she wasn’t alone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Lady was turning at her heels, happy to accept the attention Sansa immediately gave her, bending down and scratching her beneath an ear. Beside her, however, mouth slightly parted, Lady Melisandre scanned the empty space. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa expected the woman to unleash a tirade of questions but she remained silent. There was a flicker of understanding burning beneath her initial shock. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now we focus.’ Sansa commanded, squeezing their still joined hands. Keeping her eyes open so to not accidentally return back to Winterfell, she pictured the cold features of Tywin Lannister. In her mind she saw his sharp nose, thin lips and severe green eyes. In this particular image he was stood at the top of the small council table, fingers spread across the wood, brow knit and eyes narrowed. She didn’t know it this would </span>
  <span>work,</span>
  <span> she still could claim no plan or knowledge of what she was doing, but she felt a strength emanating from the priestess’ touch.  The woman was, so it seemed, no stranger to blood magic. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She called out to him in her mind. She pieced together every memory of the man to build a full image of him in his deep red doublet lined with cloth of gold. She heard his sneers and felt his cool stares. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tywin Lannister!’ She tried to summon him. At the name, Melisandre dropped her hands and took a step back. Her eyes were fixed on something behind Sansa. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She turned. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lord Tywin?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thankfully, not.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was right, he was as far from Tywin Lannister than she could imagine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t even talk to the dead properly anymore. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They took a step forward. He was man, as tall as the Hound, broad built and handsome. He hair was a deep auburn, almost brown, and speckled with strands of grey that were the only signs of age. Otherwise his skin was tanned and smooth and his face well-structured but not overly sharp and cruel. As he drew closer, she noticed his eyes, kindly in shape but nearly completely black in colour. He dressed in brown breeches and doublet and a darker cloak hung on his wide shoulders. At his waist he wore a leather sword-belt which supported a single long sword. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who are you?’ She ventured. She couldn’t understand why she had failed. She’d thought about her husband’s father as hard as she could muster. She’d felt the strength from Lady Melisandre supporting her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t even </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>recognise</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> this man. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re the one who sort me out, your Grace.’ He smirked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, didn’t. Who are you?’ She repeated, her words quick and controlled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We don’t have time for this. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Yes, you wanted the old Lion instead. He would’ve given you nothing of use. Yet, I was still called, even if it was indirectly.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My lady?’ Sansa knew she hadn’t thought of anyone else by Lord Tywin but if the priestess’ mind had wandered- </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought of no one.’ Melisandre </span>
  <span>assured,</span>
  <span> her eyes fixed on the stranger. ‘I prayed for guidance and help from the Lord of Light.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wheeled back a</span>
  <span>round,</span>
  <span> her eyes also wide. ‘Are you-’ She couldn’t even say it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Lord of Light?’ The man laughed. ‘</span>
  <span>Unfortunately,</span>
  <span> not.’ He dropped to his knee before them. ‘My name is Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span>, at your service.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them moved. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You come seeking answers?’ He continued as he stood. ‘I will try my best, that’s why I’m here.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Y-your Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span>?’ Melisandre was the first to speak. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye. But as you said, we have little time. Speak.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa couldn’t find the words. She hadn’t thought of the original prince that was promised directly but the words of the prophecy were still stuck in her head. She hadn’t been able to shake them since she heard them by the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span>. Now he stood in front of her, arms outstretched, awaiting her questions, and she believed completely that he was sincere. His very </span>
  <span>presence</span>
  <span> exuded majesty, his heroism was </span>
  <span>tangible</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘They say you will be reborn in a new hero; will it be tonight? How will it happen?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes and, as the prophecy says.’ He answered briefly. ‘But there is a more important question you must ask. Do you not want to know who will take up my sword?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It has to be Jon, but he cannot know that we are so sure. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Who will it be?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The legendary hero shrugged his shoulders and frowned. ‘I have no control over these prophecies, I did not make them and I certainly do not understand their meaning. I am in the dark, just as you are.’ He wrung his hands together and looked down on them, awkwardly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It must be Jon Snow, yes?’ Lady Melisandre spoke up with newfound confidence. She was handling her awe well. Her hand reached forward as if she wanted to touch the man ahead of them but she thought better of it and let it fall to her side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I cannot know. If he fits the prophecy- perhaps- but who can say? Those words can be easily twisted to fit half the living kingdom. Your hero Stannis fit them perfectly, in your head, didn’t he?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She tightened her hands into a ball. ‘I made a mistake.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But this Jon Snow is different? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Melisandre didn’t say anything, her words caught in her throat. He turned his attention to Sansa who’s mind continued to reel. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then why are you here?’ She crossed her arms over her chest. He had been completely useless, only putting her into more doubt and taking up their valuable time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have a gift for you, if you’ll allow it?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Eyebrow raised, she nodded.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that, he reached down to his belt, took hold of the hilt of his sword and drew it from it sheath. As it revealed itself to them, she felt a gush of heat flush against her cheeks. She went to shield her eyes, expecting it to burst into flame but the blade wasn’t lit. It glowed a deep orange, emitting a hum of light but there were no exaggerated flames like in mummers’ swords. As the legends said, it was embedded with heat from the soul of his wife. His dark eyes burned red into the reflection of the light and a sad smile played on his lips. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know what this is?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lightbringer.’ Melisandre answered for her, completely enthralled. She was practically humming with light herself at the sight of the famed weapon. To her amusement, Azor swung it several times at his side, leaving a trail of glowing light that hung for a moment in the air. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you know what it is that makes this blade special?’ He met Sansa’s gaze now with a hard expression. She said nothing, she wasn’t sure.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It is not who wields it. Anyone can pick up a sword and use it well enough. It is the forge from where it was born, the hands that melted and </span>
  <span>molded</span>
  <span> the metal, the flames that set it into place. But every sword goes through that, some swords are special because they are made well but this one is different.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nissa </span>
  <span>Nissa</span>
  <span>.’ She said the words quietly but by his sharp breath she knew he’d heard. Sansa recalled the story of Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> labouring endlessly over his sword until he realised the only </span>
  <span>way</span>
  <span> he could make it truly legendary was with a sacrifice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing is free to us.’ He spoke lowly. ‘Just as you have made sacrifices for your crown and people, and your blood to speak with me, my wife made her sacrifice for me, for this.’ He held the blade across his free hand, unaffected by its heat. ‘Here.’ He extended his arms towards her, she stepped back. The heat was almost overwhelming. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t take that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You must, it’s my gift to you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Of their own accord her hands rose to mirror his and, gently, he lowered Lightbringer onto her palms. She flinched when the metal touched her bare skin, ready to snap her hands away and let the sword fall to the ground. She felt nothing. The warmth had faded away. She opened her eyes. The inner fire had gone out. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Decisions are what make us. Not prophecies or words of hags dead thousands of years before our birth. Your fate is your own. Choose wisely and you can never regret it.’ He began to move away her head shot up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know what you need to do?’ He tilted his head slightly, she looked between him and the blade weighing on her hands. She flipped them around and took it one hand, swishing it several times to feel its weight. It was far longer than anything she was used to. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She met his eyes, turned black once more. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Great Hall closed around them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck happened to you two?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa didn’t have time to explain, she removed the barricade so carefully </span>
  <span>constructed</span>
  <span> around the door and burst out into the corridors. She stopped in her tracks. The sounds of death and pain and terror had grown since she’d been in the hall. Her mind wandered to the vulnerable hidden up in her tower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one could’ve got up there, surely? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She shook her head and, when Lady Melisandre and the Hound joined her, she turned to them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Clegane, we’ll be needing two horses. Would you mind?’ She’d sheathed the longsword in her belt and held her dagger in front of her. The hulking man nodded and she directed him towards the stables where the few horses not used for battle where waiting. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They passed through corridors light on their feet and always alert but made it to the courtyard without incident. Getting outside seemed to present many problems. The ground was stacked with so many bodies it appeared to be alive. Hands shot from the mass, crawling forward and to whatever was moving. She heard the shouts of moans of living bodies but there were too many wights to find their source. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t look, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she told herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is what’s important. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Hound went first, blundering and crashing through the wights to clear a path. He swung his longsword in wide arches and, while their attention was brought to him, Sansa and Melisandre skittered across the yard to the wooden stables. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, she could hear the nervous whinnying of horses and the sound of metal horseshoes tapping on the stone floor. Rings of metal fastened the doors shut but she made light work of them, slicing through the cables with the Valyrian Steel knife. She pulled the doors open and the both retreated to safety inside. None of the horses were saddled, as she had expected, but they didn’t have time to hunt spare equipment and prepare themselves properly. The horses were baying and shaking their flanks in agitation. She tried to sooth them with soft words but they only retreated further back when she approached. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She cursed under her breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes picked out two mares from the rest, one a light brown and the other pure white. These two were not moving is discomfort like the rest. As if they were </span>
  <span>aware</span>
  <span> she’d noticed them, they pushed away from the others and stood before them, coats gleaming, never making a sound. A quick inspection answered her question. Their eyes had rolled completely backwards, exposing only whites, just as she saw whenever Bran </span>
  <span>warged</span>
  <span> into an animal. She whispered her thanks, hoping he’d hear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door flew open. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking cunts.’ Sandor Clegane spat, snapping the door shut behind him. He shook out his arms and legs and looked up to them. ‘You better hope </span>
  <span>these beasts</span>
  <span> are worth it. What’s wrong with their eyes?’  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s nothing.’ She brushed off. ‘Will you help us on?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He growled a yes and lowered his hands to provide a step for them both to mount. Melisandre went first, managing to sit with her many layers of her gown spread across her. Before she stepped up, Sansa remembered the ease with which she’d ridden on her way North. She lifted her sword belt and, underneath, she unbuttoned her skirts, leaving her in black breeches. Satisfied, she let Sandor lift her onto the white mare’s back and waited. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped back, moved to the door and, at her signal, flung them open. Without instruction, the horses leapt into action, coursing out into the courtyard and passing through the crowds of wights without bother. She didn’t have the chance to say anything to Lady Melisandre before she was taken in the opposite direction toward the training yard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That must be where Jon is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her horse took her through the yard and out under the portcullis. In the distance, if she squinted, she could see their destination- a single standing figure fending of a legion of the dead with a grounded dragon behind her. She laid her body flat on the horse’s back and wrapped her arms around its neck. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa!’ To her left, the sound of cantering just preceded a voice calling out to her. She snapped her head around, having faith that the horse would keep them on track. Riding beside her, the giant elk she’d spotted from the ramparts beat its hooves hard against the ground. On his back, a rider, dressed in faded blacks, sat comfortably. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uncle </span>
  <span>Benjen</span>
  <span>?’ She hadn’t seen her uncle since he arrived from Castle Black when King Robert journeyed North to visit her father. He’d taken off with Jon at the same time she left with the Royal party. When she didn’t see him among the rangers at Castle Black or Eastwatch, she supposed he had to be dead. Then again, when she looked at him, it almost looked like he was. Still, there was no mistaking that it was truly him and she let a broad grin flicker across her face. It was a brief joy to see him and distracted her from everything she could see ahead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Just before they reached Daenerys, still surrounded, he rode ahead, flaming mace in hand and she pulled up. In awe, she watched as he swung it round effortlessly, taking down each wight methodically until Dany could be seen, crouched on the floor with a body in her lap. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jorah Mormont- </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Daenerys!’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> opened her eyes, misty and reddened as they looked around. Eventually they found themselves on Sansa sitting above her on the horse. </span>
  <span>Benjen</span>
  <span> stepped forward and helped her onto the back of the horse, lifting Ser Jorah and promising to see him safely back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s happening?’ Daenerys managed to ask as they began back towards the keep. She hardened her voice. ‘I demand to know.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll wish you didn’t soon enough. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Where’ve you been?’ The Red Woman awaited them outside the grove, standing beside her was Jon appearing rather grey. Sansa gently patted her white mare’s neck as she dropped to the floor, offering Daenerys a hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I went where the horse took me.’ That was true. Their plan had </span>
  <span>originally</span>
  <span> been for Melisandre to collect Jon, whom she championed and for Sansa to ride straight for the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> where Bran, and most likely the walkers, would be. Instead, the mare had taken her out of the keep towards the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span>. She was glad she had though. The Red Priestess maintained her belief that her brother was the Prince who was Promised and should be the one to wield Lightbringer but something about that solution to the prophecy didn’t sit well with her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.’ That wasn’t part of the original prophecy that had been bouncing around her head but she had read it before, or perhaps Old Nan had said the words. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bran saw Jon’s birth, just after the Battle of the Trident in a tower in the middle of Dorne. There was no salt or smoke. The only person I know to have woken dragons from stone is Daenerys Targaryen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at them both. Upon seeing her, Jon had rushed forward to meet his Queen, clasping her hands in his fussing over her. When he was completely </span>
  <span>assured</span>
  <span> she was unharmed, her pulled her into his chest and closed his eyes tight. When they pulled away, Daenerys’ violet eyes met his grey. They weren’t as bright as she’d seen before. When Sansa had finished explaining to her all she knew, the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> had fallen into a sullen silence. The truth fell heavy on both their shoulders but Jon remained none-the-wiser and appeared overjoyed simply to see them both alive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on.’ They could have spent hours sharing stories of the time since their separation but whilst Bran remained in there, there was no time to wait. Sansa ducked down, placing her feet carefully, and they crept into the small clearing. As always, the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> sat proudly in the centre, its white branches filling the open space. Its red leaves had been taken away on the wind during the autumn but the red sap bleeding from the carved eyes and mouth remained, as cruel as ever. They covered themselves in bushes and watched on. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bran sat in his wheeled chair before the tree. From her angle it looked as though the spines of branches sprouted from his back like great white fingers. Theon Greyjoy stood beside him, brandishing a long spear taken from a wight or walker, swinging it from side to side ahead of him. His movements were clumsy, tired and the pile of bodies around them served as adequate explanation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As they crouched in the undergrowth, a semi-circle had formed around the tree; the Night King’s officers stood as silent sentries, dead blue eyes fixed on the boy in the chair before them. For some minutes they remained perfectly still, like trees themselves, and Sansa had half a mind to stand up and actually make use of the dagger in her hands. Just as she rose, a hand shot forward and grasped her ankle. Behind her, Jon pointed back to the walkers who were beginning to part down the middle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The air froze over when he came into view. The man of ice. The King of the darkness. He deserved his titles well. Sansa found it almost too difficult to breathe in the thick air as he leisurely drew into the centre of the clearing. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The hand to her side rested on the small wine skin Tyrion had gifted her. With her teeth, she pulled out the cork and filled her stomach with its warm contents. After a gulp, she tossed it away, her knuckles growing white around her dagger. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t have him.’ Theon shouted, steadying his spear towards the Night King’s heart. His body was heaving in exhaustion. Bran had said something to him though, and the Greyjoy prince found his feet. He was gritting his teeth and moved, ready to dart forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No- he'll die-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa sprang to her feet. In a single movement she pushed out of the undergrowth and placed herself before the Night King. Up close, he was even more of a monster. His flesh was hardened like rock and his mouth and nose were barely there, like that of a corpse. The clothes that hung around him were finer than most wights and he was taller and strongly built like a living man but they still appeared strange on him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is an animal masquerading as a man. He wears our clothes and leads others because maybe he once was like us but </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> he’s only death and ice. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tucking her dagger at her hip, she unsheathed Lightbringer instead and, in two hands, managed to hold it out in front of her, the tip aimed at his neck. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One movement and he’s dead. Then all of them are dead. All the walkers and the wights and their giants and dragons. All dead if I just take one step forward. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Something in the back of her mind reminded her of the prophecy, of the whole reason she was here and the words that she couldn’t shake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It should be Jon or Daenerys up here, I’m not sure which. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But they’re not. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then it clicked. Tyrion had told her before but she refused to listen. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. The sword was supposed to be pulled from flames but everything was frozen, there were no fires to light it nor for it to be retrieved from. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I did retrieve it. I brought it back from Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, from the fires and heat of hell. If I lifted it from the fire then -</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t even think about what conclusion that would lead to. It made no sense but, in that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. In less than a second, all her dreams, feelings and visions became clear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was destiny that we found those </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>direwolves</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. Destiny that Lady died so that I could be tied to her and death. It was destiny that I would find Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> so it must be my destiny to put this sword through his neck. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She hardened her face, clenched her jaw and set her eyes on his. He made no move to dodge or draw his own weapon. As she was struck by her realisation, he was struck by her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A hand came down hard upon her jaw. The sheer force was enough to lift her into the air and deposit her across the clearing. She landed in a tangle of limbs back near where the others remained concealed. Her hand opened instinctively to try and ease her landing and Lightbringer skidded away from her. It took her a moment to realise she’d hit the floor. The feeling came back when the ribs she’d broken before screamed out at her, combined with a different feeling of a strange sharp warmth in her left side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone called out her name. She tried to lift her head or call a reply but piercing shoots of pain erupted at the base of her back when she tried to move. Her words came out only as muffled groans. She could hear movement ahead of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Move you idiot!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Gritting her teeth and balling her hands into first, she lifted her head several inches from the ground, barely muffling her screams at the </span>
  <span>red-hot</span>
  <span> agony the small movement brought. As carefully as she could, she turned her head to the left and left it fall heavy back onto the snow-covered ground. From there she could see the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span>. Bran was still in his chair, she couldn’t see Theon, and the Night King was still taking his measured steps forward. He wasn’t completely a man but he wasn’t all animal either. He was enjoying making every second drag out. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked slower than she was used to- each time her eyes closed they stayed shut for longer than she expected and she had to fight to force them open again. In that time, the Night King was closer, his hand reaching out towards her brother’s helpless body. Bran didn’t seem to quake or tremble or show an ounce of fear on his straight face. She wondered if he was trying to get into the Night King’s head or if he was just facing death without a struggle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes again and had to urge herself to keep them open. When the picture became clear, it had changed. Bran still sat in his chair, the Night King was still feet away from him but between them, knife in hand, Arya had appeared. As if from nowhere, her sister had placed herself in the defence of her brother. The Night King had been too quick and, just as she was about to pierce his lifeless flesh with Catspaw, his hand shot forward and held up mind air by her throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wanted to scream but no sound came out. Her sister writhed in the air before her, legs kicking desperately and hands- </span>
  <em>
    <span>what are her hands doing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa’s worry melted away, as Arya let go of her knife, catching easily with the other and plunging it between his ribs. The Night King staggered and looked down between them at the fine hilt sticking out from his torso. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was Arya. It wasn’t me or Jon or Dany, it was Arya. Destiny brought her to Essos to learn how to kill and then back to us to use her skills. Destiny-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s prone body was flung into the bushes. Behind her someone screamed and Jon shot forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Night King turned to look upon them. Dramatically, for the show, he took hold of the knife and plucked it from where it had nestled within him. With a sneer he tossed it away. He did not bleed; he showed no signs of pain. He turned back to Bran.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa shut her eyes. The pain in her head was subsiding but her side was growing warmer. She reached a hand underneath her and it came away wet. Her fingers had brushed metal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My own knife caught me when I fell.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘A knife in the stomach means death.’  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Obara Sand sang to her in her memories. She was losing blood fast and didn’t have the strength to turn herself over and stop the flow. She pried her eyes open again; the snow around her reddened, seeping out in a dark circle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You’re not the Prince or Princess that was promised you stupid girl.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now it was Cersei Lannister speaking to her, her voice laced with </span>
  <span>ecstasy</span>
  <span>. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve killed yourself and everyone else. We shall feast in King’s Landing and toast to your death until the wine runs out.’ </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wine...</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In another heave of her body, she twisted her neck to the other side, facing away from Bran and back towards the undergrowth. Daenerys was holding tight onto Jon’s sleeve </span>
  <span>whose</span>
  <span> wide eyes gave away his pain. The </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> on the other hand burned like a flame. Her eyes shot fire and her lips, pressed together, held back the </span>
  <span>dragonsbreath</span>
  <span> within. Beside her, Lady Melisandre was mumbling under her breath in prayer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Melisandre-’ she managed to cough out. Her chest ached at the movement of her ribs. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Priestess opened her eyes and found the source of the voice. She shuffled slightly forward and looked over her in concern. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re injured.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. There’s wine on the – near the sword.’ She raised her head and looked dead ahead, to Lightbringer sitting still on the ground. The Red Woman cut between them but her mind soon made sense of her half sentences. She crawled over to the ground and lay her hands on the wine-soaked snow. Craning her neck upwards, she kept her eyes fixed on the sky as she began to heed her God’s attention. Her voice became a shrill cry as it rose wildly in the still air. The woman had tears in her eyes, she was begging. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was like the sky opened up and brought day early. Everything Sansa could see flat on her chest became light and warmth. The ice breath of the walkers faded away and flames swept through the clearing. Snow melted in an instant as the floor took light, engulfing the sword tossed so carelessly into the wine. The silence that had sat heavy upon them was pierced by screams. The Lady Melisandre was at the centre of the fire, red tongues licking up her, smothering her in their light. The sound was terrible, but Sansa couldn’t draw her eyes away. The Red Priestess was gowned in flames. That which she had worshiped and looked into had finally become her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Daenerys?’ She coughed, looking once more towards the concealed </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span>. Her eyes reflected the flames, her ivory skin was awash with the orange light. ‘Now.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes grew wide and the hint of doubt flitted upon her features. Still, picked up her cloak and stood. Sansa’s </span>
  <span>eyes  followed</span>
  <span> her as she stepped into the open towards the flames now eating away at the collapsed body that had been Lady Melisandre of </span>
  <span>Asshai</span>
  <span>. The Queen breathed deeply, bent down and let her hand dip into the fire as one would dip their hands into a pool on a warm summer’s day. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa held her breath. The snow had numbed her side. She could at least be grateful for that. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys drew the sword from the ground and raised it up above her. The dousing of the blade in wine had caused it to take light. Fire engulfed the metal blade but the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> showed no signs of discomfort. She moved forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes were growing tired. She hoped it was just from staring at flames but she knew it stemmed from inside. With each drop of blood that spilled from her side, her energy was sapped. She wanted desperately to turn her head one final time and face the </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> to watch the Night King fall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is nothing I want more to remember his death, even if it is the last thing I see. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But her body refused. She heaved and pushed but her arms didn’t respond. She was stuck staring at the blackened body of the Red Priestess still on her knees in prayer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa!’ A hushed voice called out to her. She hadn’t seen Jon move from his spot but she knew the voice. Before she could recall </span>
  <span>who</span>
  <span> it belonged to, an arm swooped under her and the frozen ground left her. She was pulled into a sitting position, propped up against another body, his arm still wrapped around her. In spotting the wound Sansa expected to be horrifying and gaping, his hand flattened against it, holding her shut. She blinked her eyes open. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Theon-’ She managed a small smile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hold on.’ He murmured, pulling her tightly against his warmth. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into him. Every part of her longed to drift away and release the tension held inside. But she thought of Bran and Arya and Daenerys and Jon and she kept her hands firmly gripped on the world. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ahead of her, the Night King had stopped. He’d reached Bran and, by the blue marks at her brother’s throat, had begun his final task of removing him. To her relief, he had been dropped to the floor and </span>
  <span>she could see him breathing and blinking as he too watched on. The Night King’s attention had been drawn to Daenerys. His whole body had changed colour in the nearing fire from the sword, his ice blue turning a cool amber. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In a blink, he went for a weapon at his hip but Daenerys moved faster. She lunged forward and thrusted the blade directly into his stomach. The Night King looked down. Nothing happened. The world was still. The clearing was filled with statues holding their breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Night King once again pulled out the weapon lodged within him and tossed it back it to her. </span>
  <span>Its</span>
  <span> fire had died. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’ Sansa jumped forward but Theon held her back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That had to work, why didn’t it work? Lightbringer is supposed to chase the darkness away. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Its</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> flames were forged by Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> himself for this purpose and-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys bent down and picked Lightbringer back up. The Night King himself looked </span>
  <span>surprised –</span>
  <em>
    <span>perhaps he knows of the prophecy too. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Against Theon’s chest, Sansa felt herself slipping. The darkness was inviting. The world outside had betrayed her, beaten her down at every opportunity. Then, when she fought against it, it brought only more death and pain upon her. She was standing in a rushing river trying to reverse the flow. She was at the bottom of an avalanche. She was a child deposited in the world of men. Everyday hurt and every night brought her no release. Death taunted her from all sides. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But if I embrace it- it can’t hurt. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She felt herself slipping. It was nice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-THE PRINCESS WHO WAS PROMISED-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The weapon in her hand was cold. The blade was ice. The fire was gone. Her eyes flicked upwards. The Night King was regarding her with something like </span>
  <span>curiosity</span>
  <span> in dead eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sansa was wrong. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Have you heard the story of Azor Ahai?’ The Stark Queen had asked as they rode back towards the keep. Her hands were trembling, her mind was elsewhere. She knew the tale but she couldn’t find it in her mind.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He laboured for thirty days and thirty nights to forge a hero’s blade to fight the darkness but it broke. He tried again for longer and longer but each time he failed. Finally, he worked for one hundred nights and days and knew how to temper the steel. He called for his wife and drove it through her heart. They say the blade was infused with her soul so was always warm to the touch.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And-’ She didn’t care much for the ancient tales of Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span>. She </span>
  <span>now</span>
  <span> recalled where she knew the name from and scolded herself for letting it skip her mind. He was the one the Red Priestess had predicted would return and bring his flame sword with him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We face the darkness, it’s time for a hero to take their place. One born of smoke and </span>
  <span>salt,</span>
  <span> they say. Like you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were born and Dragonstone, on the night of a great storm. That tale is a legend of its own. You brought stone dragons to life too, that was also predicted.’ Sansa said these words with a touch of urgency. They were no joke. She genuinely believed a thousand-year-old prophecy had finally come to its </span>
  <span>fulfilment</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And how does this hero defeat the darkness.’ Dany had no clue how to defeat the Night King. Her fire had barely touched him. She hoped someone else would take a chance and a sword would meet his heart. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pull a blade from a fire and use it on the Night King.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ She didn’t say another word. It didn’t feel right. Her stomach turned in discomfort. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did just as she said, as the prophecy said, and – nothing. I’m not a hero or a legend and, as it seems, I won’t be a Queen either. If I was really Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> reborn, I would have laboured for years over this blade. It would have broken time and time again but I would have kept going despite all the mounting evidence telling me it was impossible. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>We have to go.’ Jon was at her side, his arm holding onto hers. The Night King was still frozen to the spot. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She turned on the balls of her feet to meet his eyes- his grey swirling eyes. His sisters and brother were laying lifeless on the ground but he stood beside her. Looked over to her with concern, stood against the Night King with her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I haven’t done all Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> did. I worked tirelessly, day by day as he did. I went from failure to failure. Every hint of success shattered around me. I’ve forged that sword for my hundred days and nights and I know how this has to end. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Dany?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was soft, low but like a purr, never a growl. His hand reached for a cheek and she leant into it. The Night King returned his attention to the boy on the ground. This had been drawn out for too long. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He gave himself to me. Sailed north for me. He rode a dragon for me. He refused his throne for me. And I- </span>
  </em>
  <span>it hurt her to think of all the things she hadn’t done for him. Her eyes were welling. She couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The blade she held in her hand was cold. Lightbringer was warm. Lightbringer was infused with a soul. It had been of Nissa </span>
  <span>Nissa</span>
  <span> but eventually her soul had escaped. Now it was just a sword. She knew what she had to do. Her chest hurt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s okay, Dany.’ He leaned in close to her, ‘you can do it.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked up to him but couldn’t find the words to say. He knew what she was thinking, she didn’t know how, but he knew it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She leant upwards, raising herself on her toes and pressed her lips hard against his. She savoured his taste, his warmth, the feeling of him against her. She closed her eyes tight and let her arm move on its own. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys Targaryen plunged her sword into Jon Snow’s stomach. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With a laboured gasp, his legs buckled beneath him and he landed on his knees in the snow. Someone cried out. Dany didn’t hear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dany-’ He rasped. Thick blood gurgled in his throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’ She fought back the tears but they won over. They spilled from her eyes before she could stop them. Her hands trembled. Her eyes couldn’t focus. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear the sound of someone fighting for breath and her head turned to the great </span>
  <span>weirwood</span>
  <span> watching over them. Beneath it, the Night King squeezed Bran Stark’s neck tight. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No more. I am Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Andals</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> and the First Men. I am the unburnt, the mother of dragons, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Stormborn</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. I am Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> reborn. The darkness will flee before me and the Night King will burn. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She wrapped two shaking hands around the hilt of the sword and pulled, hard. As she did so, Jon spluttered and crashed onto the ground. She ached to hold him but she stepped away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The blade was warm to touch. It wasn’t burning in flame like those of mummers she’d seen in Essos. The fire was within it, real and unbreakable. The Night King swung around at her approach. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too slow.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The blade shot upwards into his neck, sprouting out from the other side. Bran was dropped to the floor and his boned hands shot forward, scraping at his throat. He was maddened, writhing furiously as she held him there. With a shudder, the Night King expired. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With him, the clearing burst in ice as his officers fell away, one by one. She could only presume the same was true back in the keep. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She dropped down to her knees and crawled over to Jon Snow’s body. He lay back in the snow, clutching at the hole in his stomach. His chest rose and fell in short sharp pants. She fell in beside him and took his hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s over.’ She mustered a smile. She was numb. The Night King was dead and with it his foul army but she didn’t feel an ounce of joy. She felt nothing at all. Jon was staring upwards at the sky, only his regular blinking giving him away as still alive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone grunted in pain. They both looked around to see Sansa Stark release a cry of anguish as Theon Greyjoy pressed the hot metal blade against her bare skin. She’d fallen on her own blade and, by the pool of red where she was laying, she’d lost a great deal of blood. Still, when Theon released her, she dragged herself forwards and took her place at Jon’s other side. Her mouth opened and shut but her words failed her. The Queen of the North collapsed into him, wracked with heavy sobs. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re okay, Jon. You’ll be fine.’ Dany brushed some of his ever-unruly dark hair from his forehead, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He squeezed her hand in response and continued to stare upwards at the clear night. He didn’t seem to be in any pain – he was smiling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon?’ A quiet voice and soft footsteps approached them. Limping heavily and clutching her side with a wince, the youngest Stark sister made herself known. When Jon had seen his sister tossed lifelessly across the floor, he’d nearly jumped upwards and run towards her. She’d stopped him but, deep down had prayed that the girl wasn’t dead. She couldn’t forgive herself if she stopped him seeing his sister before she died. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>To see her alive brought her a small moment of joy but the look on the girl’s face shattered it. Her pain morphed into agony as she dropped to her knees. She shuffled forward and pulled her brother’s head into her lap. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-’ her edge of maturity fled her. Her voice was small and cracked. The girl hardened by the cruel world couldn’t </span>
  <span>resist</span>
  <span> the tears that ran down her dirtied cheeks. ‘Jon? No, please. Jon?’ Arya ran her hands through her brother’s hair. He didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the stars. He stopped blinking. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in its short, quiet life, Ghost howled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was over. </span>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Mornings to Come</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>She was running through the halls of Winterfell, younger, happier, a world away from all the hatred and cruelty of life outside its walls. Beside her, Bran skipped past, dodging servants, guests and anyone else who had the misfortune to get in his way. She’d forgotten how nimble he’d been. Just behind them, she could hear the light step of Arya as she too swept through the halls like a ghost. To her other side, Jon ran in time with her, his dark curls splaying behind him. He said something funny, she laughed. She didn’t care he was a bastard; he was her brother.  </p><p>But then he was gone. He picked up speed and chased ahead, chased towards the voices of those just out of view. She could hear the calls of Robb from ahead, urging his half-brother to catch up with him. For a flash, as they turned a corner, she caught a glimpse of the eldest Stark, Rickon in his arms, before he vanished out of sight. She tried to call out to Jon but he was gone, just out of sight. </p><p>‘Sansa?’ </p><p>She wasn’t walking Winterfell’s halls but they were outside its gates. Her mind must have started wandering in its pain-induced delirium as she was half dragged back towards the keep. She kept one arm secured around Theon’s arm and the other still pressing against her side. At least the hot blade had stopped the bleeding. That didn’t stop the pain or the weakness that swept over her.  </p><p>Arya was wheeling Bran behind them with Daenerys, who walked on her own. Sansa stretched her neck and looked to the Dragonqueen- her eyes were empty and her mouth pressed tightly together. She held the blessed sword in her hand, dragging it along in the snow.  </p><p>The two horses left outside the grove padded along obediently behind, each holding a body draped carefully across their back. Their eyes were once again rolled back in their heads, as were Bran’s.  </p><p>Nobody said a word as they trudged through the thick snow but she could hear the words on the wind go unsaid. They’d seen what they’d seen and knew what they knew. What was the need for discussing it? </p><p>Standing before the splinted gates, Sansa paused. She looked down upon herself and sighed deeply. Her clothes were heavy with blood, her hair stuck with leaves and twigs from the undergrowth and her face was evidence enough that she’d been crying. Without looking at herself, she knew her eyes were reddened, her cheeks puffed and her expression desolate. She looked towards her hands. They were trembling once again. Noticing this, Theon took one in his own grip and offered her an encouraging smile. She nodded in thanks but their tremor didn’t cease. She knew what she needed but she didn’t dare ask. </p><p>The courtyard before them was beginning to be cleared. The dead, wights and Northmen alike, were piled to the sides, clearing a path for them to pour into and assess the damage. At their approach, those already inside drew weapons and swung round to face them. At her sight though, they bowed their heads or dropped to their knees. She stepped forward.  </p><p>‘The Night King is dead.’ She began simply. She could hear her voice cracking. ‘The dead are gone and will never return. The Long Night is over.’ She was right, the sun was beginning to dawn, just a crack of amber light emerging from the trees. ‘Our victory has not been without loss. T-tonight we will h-honour their sacrifices.’ She just managed to get the last words out. At her silence, murmurs broke out, especially as the two horses moved into view. As their voices grew, she broke away from Theon and forced herself inside the building, away from everyone and their questions.  </p><p>Limping, she stumbled down the corridors, until she found herself in the glass gardens. Their beauty had been destroyed. The flowers within, as her mother had told her, were from the South and had to be carefully cultivated so they would grow in the cold. The glass walls trapped the heat and transported any visitor into the Dornish plains or the fields of the Reach. At the centre, a small pool flowed from a bed of rocks. Sansa dropped herself on a bench.  </p><p>The glass had been shattered and many of the flowers and plants within wrenched from their soil and splayed across the ground. Dead, gone. She picked up one. A small white rose, and lay it against her lap. It was beautiful even in death but that did not take away from the fact it would never grow again. All the endless work that went into keeping these flowers alive was for nothing. Some would live but the gardens could never smell so sweet or be filled with so many colours as she recalled.  </p><p>The tears came once more. Thick and heavy. Her head collapsed into her hands and she let her body shake with its mix of exhaustion and pain. She hadn’t brought herself to think about it but the gates opened and the flood entered her mind but the waters were poisonous and there was no escape. At first, she stood just ankle deep in them but soon they rose to her knees, then her hips and before she could try to move, she was up to her neck. Perhaps she didn’t want to move. The waters would catch up with her eventually – <em> maybe to drown in them now would be a relief.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>My Queen.’ The low, hushed voice of Ser Brienne of Tarth broke her from her thoughts. She gasped for breath; half convinced that she had been truly drowning in an invisible sea.  </p><p>‘Brienne-’ The Lord Commander of her Queensguard sat herself down on a bench opposite to her. She tried to meet her eyes but Sansa looked away. She knew what she looked like and couldn’t bear the thought of sympathy.  </p><p>‘You’re injured, Greyjoy said.’  </p><p>‘Aye. I’ll be alright.’ Her side still stung from falling on her own knife and her ribs ached with each movement but she could hardly feel them anymore. <em> I’m numb. ‘ </em>And you?’ </p><p>‘I’m fine, a few cuts and bruises but I was lucky. Jaime’s alright too, he’s gone to your tower. Podrick-’ </p><p>Her head shot up. ‘Pod?’ </p><p>‘Is being seen to by the maester. He got hit early but he fought them off nonetheless.’ </p><p>‘He deserves his knighthood then.’ She said with a small smile. She was glad to hear her personal steward lived and proved himself but she couldn’t accept the joy she was supposed to feel. ‘And-’ She knew there were more.  </p><p>‘Asha Greyjoy lives. Her spearmen kept a dragon at bay. Ser Bronn seems to be completely unharmed. Giantsbane lives too.’ </p><p>‘Margaery?’ Her hand and closest friend had slipped away before the gate had caved in and hadn’t returned.  </p><p>‘Was found barricaded in a room. She’s fine.’ </p><p>Sansa released a sigh of relief. At least one rose had survived in the North. She looked back down into her lap and sniffed.  </p><p>‘Sansa- your brother-’ </p><p>‘Sacrificed himself.’ She explained bluntly. It hurt to say but she wouldn’t tarnish his memory by having people believed he died for nothing. ‘There was no other way.’  </p><p>‘I’m sorry, Sansa.’  </p><p>‘You should go join the men. I’ve no doubt they’ll be celebrations held when the dead are cleared away. I’ll find my way back.’ Her voice drifted off. The older woman rose without a word and departed. The garden was still and, if she closed her eyes, it felt like nothing had changed at all. The flowers of all colours still bloomed, the glass ceiling still stood and Jon was still alive.  </p><p>‘Come find me Jon.’ She whispered into the splashing waters. If the other members of her family lost to her could pay her a visit, what was stopping him? She sat back on the bench and waited.  </p><p>A shuffling of robes finally convinced her, some-time later, that she wouldn’t be seeing him that day. She looked up to find Lord Varys taking the place Brienne had sat in. His hands were joined together within his thick sleeves but he had yet to encase himself in any perfumes that day.  </p><p>‘People are asking for their Queen, Sansa.’  </p><p>It took her a moment to realise he was talking about her and not Daenerys.  </p><p>‘I’ll come soon.’ </p><p>‘When you’re finished wishing it had been you to make the sacrifice?’ He leant forward as he voice rose in his petulant tone.  </p><p>‘It had to be Jon.’ She said simply. ‘We were just following the prophecy.’ </p><p>‘Ah yes, the prophecy. And now that that’s done, what now?’ </p><p>She shuffled uncomfortably; the stone seat was beginning to grow too hard for her to sit upon. She knew she needed someone to inspect her wounds and the longer she sat the more pained her ribs grew. ‘We march North. I finish what I started and then return home. Then I can rest.’ </p><p>‘And until then? Will you rest at all until Cersei is dead?’ </p><p>She looked up to meet his eye. ‘No, I won’t and I will carry on after she’s dead too if the realm isn’t secure. I will rest when we have peace. I made that promise to the people and myself. I intend to keep it.’  </p><p>‘Your mother’s daughter indeed.’ He sat back, now too gazing into the tumbling waters. ‘It seems so long since we too spoke in the gardens at King’s Landing.’  </p><p>‘Before the Heart Tree.’ She corrected. ‘I sometimes wish I never went. Tyrion didn’t think it was worth going. I should’ve listened.’  </p><p>‘Tyrion Lannister is wise but not always the wisest. You may still have been with Cersei if you didn’t leave when you did. Joffrey and Tywin would still live-’ </p><p>‘As would my brothers, Prince Oberyn, Lady Melisandre and all the hundreds of men who’ve risked themselves for me.’ She was growing irritated with his constant questions. Of course she was grateful for his help and she’d let that be known but she knew the eunuch only served who he deemed right for the realm. He swapped sides at turn of the tide if he saw one succeeding over the other. He knew nothing of loyalty and, as he had no family to speak of, knew nothing of her losses. She stood and took her leave, clutching at her side and breathing in slowly to not irritate herself anymore. Maester Thomos almost barrelled into her along a corridor and he took her promptly to his rooms to dress her wounds.  </p><p>It was nice to have the man with the small, kindly eyes look over her carefully. Every now and then he whispered his thoughts to himself and she found it quite amusing. As she lay, she turned her head to see his collection of glass jars, all labelled in his fine hand. Some names she recognised but some she’d never heard of and others were written in a foreign script. They were a welcome distraction and she found herself half-asleep staring at them when he finally pulled away to give his verdict.  </p><p>‘The blade didn’t hit anything major.’ He rubbed his wrinkled hands together. ‘Another quarter of an inch over and I doubt you’d have made it back to us. But let’s not dwell on what could’ve been, eh? Your ribs will heal as they did before, slowly, but you’ll be able to ride soon. Here.’ He reached behind him and gathered together some of his jars. He poured small amounts into pouches which he piled up in her hands. ‘Take these before bed for the pain, much better than milk of the poppy.’  </p><p>She nodded and shook his hand in thanks. He dropped his eyes and smiled to himself shyly.  </p><p>Sansa hobbled back towards the main courtyard. Miraculously, it had been cleared, the last few bodies piled into wheelbarrows due to be taken outside onto the many pyres that would line the fields. There was no need to burn the dead anymore but there was no way for them to bury all the bodies. She would’ve liked to go through each one, separate wight from man and send remains to the families of the lost but that would be an impossible task and she knew they just didn’t have the time. Two wildling men returned to the courtyard and one took a cart back out of the gates. One was left behind but the second wildling glanced towards it, mumbled something to himself and passed into the castle proper. She walked towards it.  </p><p>Laid in neat lines, eyes closed as if sleeping, several bodies rested. The first was Jon, Longclaw laid across his chest, his expression hinting at a slight smile on his lips. Beside him, the blackened corpse of Lady Melisandre. Her once red robes had been eaten away to browns and blacks and her bright hair was no more. She died screaming, there was no way to hide that. Sansa reached forward, something glinting in the morning light caught her eye. Grimacing and looking away, she dug her hands into the body until her fingers curled around its prize.  </p><p>The fires that surrounded the Red Priestess at her death had burnt away almost everything. The fine jewels she wore at her wrists were gone and the gold band at her throat melted away. Sansa’s eye had caught the red light of the ruby the woman had worn in the band, however, and she brought it into the sun to inspect it. It was like the stone had never been in the fire at all. It was completely unscathed and still holding the delicately constructed shape it had been when it sat at the nape of Melisandre’s neck. Her fingers closed around the ruby and she dropped it into her pocket.  </p><p>The next body had been covered with a sheet. Expecting something gruesome beneath, Sansa lifted it gingerly, her hand shooting to her mouth when it was removed. The body wasn’t disgusting but it was small, too small to lay so still.  </p><p><em> Lyanna- </em> </p><p>She didn’t look injured in any way. Sansa could see no blood or wounds on the girl. Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful.  </p><p><em> This was no place for her. I tried to get her to stay with us. If she’d have listened- </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>She took out a giant.’ Jaime Lannister had joined her. She hadn’t even noticed. ‘Stuck her sword through its eye and everything.’  </p><p>Sansa looked back towards her brother by marriage, who appeared genuinely impressed by the girl’s actions, even if his eyes betrayed his sadness. She turned back to Lyanna. <em> She was little and young but she never let that stop her. She was as fierce as the bear she wore as her sigil and better than all of us could dream of being. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>She dies with honour then.’ Sansa muttered and Jaime nodded. She pushed the covers back more, there was another body on the end.  </p><p>Lord Beric was laid like her brother, his sword across his chest, his lips tilted upwards. He had embraced death, she could see. She supposed that made sense for someone who had been brought back so many times. <em> In the end, there has to be a true ending for all of us </em>. Carefully, she pulled up the material and laid it across all four bodies. Jaime offered her his arm and they trudged inside.  </p><p> </p><p>That night, groups came forward and said their words over the bodies of their fallen friends. Lyanna and Jorah Mormont were laid to rest together, their bodies wrapped in a single Bear Island banner they’d brought South with them. Only three of their original men remained at the keep- they said their words and volunteered to accompany them back to the island. Surprisingly, Arya said some words for Beric Donaderrion, alongside the Hound, who both had travelled with the Lightning Lord at some point in their journeys. Gendry had the last word before his body was put to the torch as per the instructions of those who knew him best. The Lady Melisandre was also burnt but Sansa was certain no one would have anything to say about the Red Priestess.  </p><p>Ser Davos Seaworth stepped forward.  </p><p>‘I never liked Lady Melisandre of Asshai,’ he began gruffly. ‘When I served Stannis I thought she was a bad influence. I saw her blood magic and heard the strange tales she spoke to him. But she was right. She chose the wrong men to serve but, in the end, she was right. I hope she knows that now.’  </p><p>Sansa offered him thanks for his words and the torches were lit. Her body was already charred beyond recognition but it would seem odd not to send her off like the others.  </p><p>Jon’s body was the last to be looked over. Grave faces surrounded his figure, dressed in his blacks, diminished by the pyre surrounding him. His remaining brothers from the Night’s Watch made up most of the numbers but others filled the space, Northmen, wildlings and others she didn’t know he’d known. Jon was to be burnt, as was the Targaryen way, then buried within the crypts near his mother.  </p><p>Many stepped forward to say their words. Praises were called to the sky in the name of Jon Snow. Tormund Giantsbane spluttered his thanks to the Lord Commander who saved the free folk, ending his words with a cry to the heavens that rose in a great din as the other wildlings repeared him. Theon Greyjoy spoke of his memories growing up alongside him, Arya held out the sword he’d gifted her, Tyrion spoke of their brief time together on the wall and Lord Commander Tollett spoke of his friend who gave his life for the watch.  </p><p>Sansa didn’t know a thing about that. No one had told her he’d died for the sake for the free folk, at the hands of his own brothers. She’d seen the scars across his torso but never asked for an explanation. She held her face firm but, at that, she felt it beginning to give way. No one else made a move to speak and she was anxious to have it over with. Every second drew out the memories that played on repeat in her mind, bringing her closer to collapse. She had no intention to say anything. Everything had already been said; no one could possibly doubt her brother’s honour and kindness. They would sing songs of his valour and good heart, there was nothing she could add. Daenerys seemed to have the same idea, she stood to her side in still silence.  </p><p>But their eyes were fixed on her. Hungry for something else they looked to her for the final words. She was their Queen, no matter how often she tried to forget.  </p><p>She stepped forward, leaning a hand against the wooden pyre for stability.  </p><p>‘Jon Snow, or Aegon Targaryen, was my brother.’ <em> Is that all I can think of? ‘ </em>I tried to pretend he wasn’t, because to me he was always a bastard, a mistake, but now I’ve come to see him as my true brother, my shield and my sword arm.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘He lived by the words of the Night’s Watch, so, in a way, he was a brother to many, even those whose lives were so different to his own. I hope I can be the same.’ She met eyes with Samwell Tarly, the boy who seemed so devoted to his former Lord Commander. At his side, Gilly, carrying her boy on her hip.  </p><p>With a nod, the apprentice Maester coughed and moved forward.  </p><p>‘We will never see his like again.’ </p><p>Sansa led the final words. ‘And now his watch had ended.’ Those around them, black brothers, wildlings, Northmen and Unsullied alike, repeated the words back at her. The Dragonqueen was passed a torch and the pyre caught light. The wood was consumed quickly and Sansa watched the flames grow until her brother was finally enveloped in their warm embrace. She knew she was too close to the fire, it burned her face, but she didn’t dare step away. She watched until it was only embers catching on the wind and gutting out in the snow. She waited until his remains were collected and led the train down into the crypts.  </p><p>As expected, the bodies of her ancestors had been brought to life when the rest of the dead were given new life by the Night King. Arya explained earlier that she’d supervised the clearing away of the bodies, trying to make sure the right bones went in the right place. It was a near impossible task but, Sansa supposed, a good distraction.  </p><p>They reached the empty tomb now allotted for Jon and she stood vigil as his charred bones were dropped into it. Northmen had no words to say at a funeral. The candles were lit and all were supposed to fall into a respectful silence while the tomb was closed. With only her, Arya and Bran watching on, she could feel them being outnumbered by the many eyes fixed on the newly filled tomb. Arya closed the marble lid and Sansa laid Longclaw across the top. In time, his likeness would be immortalised in a stone figure but, for now, the bastard sword would have to serve.  </p><p>She knew they weren’t alone and, when she glanced at her two living siblings, she caught sight of the others that had joined in their stillness. Still dressed for battle, Robb Stark bowed his head for his lost brother and her father for the boy raised as his son. Rickon, blubbering as if he was still the babe she remembered, pushed forward and laid a dirtied hand on the cool stone, which only she could see. The cool grey eyes of an unfamiliar face took her place beside Ned Stark. She was just as tall as him and gowned in a delicate white robe. Her hair was mousey brown, like Arya’s and their sad smiles were almost identical.  </p><p><em> Lyanna </em> <em>  Stark.  </em> </p><p>Jon’s mother was just as beautiful as the stories told – it seemed the one thing they’d had right about her doomed aunt. Sansa’s lips twitched into a grateful smile and, with a deep breath, she took Bran’s chair and led them all out, leaving the dead to mourn on their own.  </p><p> </p><p>The next days fell away in a haze. She did all that was required of her and spent the rest of the day and night alone in her room. She took her meals in the great hall but never stayed long, even when toasts and celebrations were called for. She always wished them well and made up some excuse for her absences. She barely spoke to anyone she didn’t need to, mostly spending her time with Jaime Lannister, looking over their remaining men and planning for temporary walls and defences to be put in place in the keep.  </p><p>Queen Daenerys seemed to be following the same routine but she had taken to eating in her rooms and Sansa only saw the Dragonqueen once in nearly a week in close confines. It was only when she finally called a council meeting that everyone made an appearance.  </p><p>Council meetings had never been the most thrilling experience but they’d always been filled with energy and dull excitement. When she entered that afternoon, however, only small murmurs greeted her and dark, melancholy expressions. Jaime, Greyworm and Tormund explained the state of their respective men and the room fell into tired discussion over their next moves. Eventually Daenerys stood to address them. </p><p>‘We cannot waste a second more in the North. Queen Sansa has been good to us but even she wants us to travel South and remove the devil from her throne. She tells me Myrcella Lannister, who is technically Queen, has promised to yield the city and her throne upon our arrival. We must still prepare for the worst.’ She reached forward and pointed her finger towards White Harbour. ‘As we did before, we shall march to the harbour and sail to King’s Landing. If Myrcella yields, we shall have no problem and if she doesn’t-’ </p><p>‘Then you’ll face my uncle Euron’s fleet, your Grace.’ Asha Greyjoy replied lazily, Sansa nodded in agreement. </p><p>‘We have ships-’ </p><p>‘And he has better ones. He has more and he has an experienced crew. If the legends are believed and, seeing that old fucker I believe they might be, he’s been half-way around the world in his ships with those men and survived every single bout. He took the best ships from Pyke. My longships <em> may  </em> have stood a chance against a  <em> portion  </em>of his but they’re burnt to the ground. That leaves us with a few war galleys and merchant’s ships.’  </p><p>The Dragonqueen grew increasing irritated as Asha spoke. It was clear the Greyjoy woman, with her boots upon the table didn’t care to show her much respect.  </p><p>‘I agree with the commander.’ Sansa spoke quickly to defuse the tension. ‘We have limited numbers anyway, we should avoid Euron at all costs.’ She turned to Daenerys, ‘but we also need to travel as quickly South as possible. I know from experience the time it can take to bring an army that distance. I was lucky as Cersei let me leave with the belief I would kill myself fighting the Bolton’s. Now she knows we’re coming for King’s Landing, she’ll send Lannister and Dornish forces across the lands to hinder our way. There’s no way of being certain who will support us and who will remain loyal to her.’  </p><p>‘Forgive me, Sansa, but if we can’t travel by land or sea, how are we supposed to reach the capital?’ Tyrion tilted his head towards her. Although his expression was one of questioning, his eyes betrayed a hint of encouragement. At that, she couldn’t help but smile.  </p><p>‘We will need to sail from White Harbour, as Queen Daenerys suggested but, I would add that, as we grow closer South, she rides as a scout. I can’t imagine Cersei would dare send Euron out of the bay but if she did, we will be wanting to get out of the water as soon as we can.’ Sansa leant a hand on the table and reached across it. She dragged her finger across the sea from White Harbour, around the Fingers and into the Bay of Crabs. ‘If we land here, near Maidenpool,  the journey to King’s Landing will be relatively short and we’ll only need to pass through the Crownlands.’ </p><p>‘And nobody will stop us there?’ Daenerys followed her path on the map. </p><p>‘I can’t say for certain. Stokeworth is the largest keep we’ll need to pass and we can swing quite far from it if needed. There are no major houses in those lands, none who would dare face two dragons, at least.’ </p><p>The Dragonqueen looked towards her Hand, who nodded in approval. She stood backwards. ‘That seems...logical. Thank you. We shall do as you said an land in Maidenpool then I will ride onwards with a small group and we can treat with Cersei Lannister.’ </p><p>Chattering broke out around the table. Even Tyrion appeared unsettled by the proclamation.  </p><p>‘Are you certain that’s wise?’ Ser Davos smiled. Sansa often forgot the onion knight had been a Hand to a King himself. While he questioned Daenerys, he kept cool and never showed any disrespect.  </p><p>‘I must be the one to show willing to compromise. If she rejects my offers, history will remember that we tried and that she chose war, not us.’  </p><p>‘I’m afraid war is already on the cards, if I may.’ Jaime Lannister rose from his seat between Sansa and Brienne. ‘Queen Sansa has already killed the King and your Hand killed her father. She has no heart- you have no chance of moving it.’ </p><p>‘The histories will remember us saving the people of the South, Aegon the Conqueror never asked nicely.’ Sansa had resumed her seat but looked upwards towards the Dragonqueen. She didn’t want to say but everything Daenerys had said so far sounded delusional. Was the woman who was birthed into the world with three dragons so naive as to believe Cersei would stand down for anything bar all of their heads? <em> No one will judge us foully for slaughtering her where she stands but they will think us fools to treat with her like she is a reasonable, sane person. ‘ </em>Trust me, Daenerys. She doesn’t work like most do. We are bringing justice to her, there is no need to negotiate.’  </p><p>The Dragonqueen pursed her lips but no one jumped to her defence. Her brows knitted together in deep thought as Sansa drew back from the table and settled into her chair. The whirring of Daenerys’s brains could be heard across the room.  </p><p>‘I wanted to opt for peace but if this is the way-’ She trailed off.  </p><p>‘I want nothing more than peace too but this <em> is  </em>the way, with Cersei at least.’ Sansa answered for her. Those beside her nodded in their agreement. Each had had their own experiences with the Lioness and each knew the path laid out for them. Sansa couldn’t deny her own role in that, Jaime was right. If she didn’t kill Joffrey during her escape, perhaps Cersei would be in a different situation but that couldn’t account for the woman herself, so obsessed with the crown on her head and the people beneath her feet.  </p><p>The meeting was soon concluded and the Council of the North, and South, trailed out in their separate directions. Sansa stayed behind to speak briefly to Daenerys but the Dragonqueen was gone before she got the chance. With a heavy breath, she turned towards the table as if already watching their ships creep South.  </p><p>Every day drew them closer to King’s Landing, she could feel it but she also felt a sense of finality. Whatever outcome they faced; they would close a thousand doors forever. She’d seen the city burned to the ground in a feverish dream once, and another time she’d seen in frozen. She’d also seen the walls of the Red Keep run with golden blood. Then there were Tywin Lannister’s words. He’d spoken of a prophecy that was set to be soon fulfilled and she had long convinced herself he meant the prophecy of Azor Ahai. But then the hero himself seemed sure that Tywin knew nothing on that matter which meant he was speaking of something else, another twist of fate that she had yet to come across. One that could lead to her death. <em> He said if I carried along the same path as I was on, I would die at Cersei’s hand. He was right that we’d survive the dead, must he be right about that too?  </em> Such thoughts kept her up at night. Destiny and fate were never something she particularly believed in but what she’d seen and felt made her question herself.  <em> If there is a right and wrong path for me, am I on the right one yet? Will there a moment where I must choose or is it too late?  </em> </p><p>‘Wise words, your Grace.’ She spun around to find Tyrion Lannister had remained in the chamber. For a moment she feared she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘Daenerys will not admit it but she values your counsel highly.’  </p><p>She quietly released a breath. He meant her advice earlier and not the strange thoughts that preoccupied her mind whenever she tried to rest.  </p><p>‘Thank you.’ She replied curtly, she began towards the door. ‘I cannot stay, I’m afraid, I have much to do.’ </p><p>‘No, you don’t.’ He put his foot against the door as she reached to open it. She looked down upon him, making no attempt to hide her confusion. ‘I spoke to Lady Margaery. She says your afternoon is free, for once.’  </p><p>She made no reply, falling back from the door and wringing her hands in front of her. Never before had she felt so trapped.  </p><p>‘Are you trying to avoid me, Sansa?’ He cocked his head to one side and wore and expression of innocence though his tone dripped in accusation. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. </p><p>‘Of course not.’  </p><p>‘You’re a terrible liar. You’ve barely said a word to me in days. I’ve spoken to your sister more than you.’  </p><p><em> It is none of your business what I do and who I talk to.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>I have been recovering. Maester Thomos instructed me to rest as often as possible. I have not meant any offence.’  </p><p>‘Hmm.’ He stepped away from the door but she didn’t move towards it. ‘How are you then?’  </p><p>‘Healing.’ She shrugged her shoulders. The pain was subsiding, slowly but gradually and the wound on her side looked better each night. She did as she was bid, carefully applying poultices before she went to bed and sitting with towels filled with ice for a time each evening. Something occurred to her. ‘You owe me an apology.’ </p><p>‘Oh?’ </p><p>‘Yes.’ </p><p>‘What for?’ </p><p>In indication, she raised her hand to her side and pointed a finger to the location of her wound. ‘You stabbed me, in a way. The knife you gave me did this- I fell on the damn thing.’ </p><p>‘Y-you fell on your own knife?’ Tyrion was laughing his dry, rich chuckle. He shook his head in his mirth and went to look up to her. At her face, looking less than pleased, he couldn’t help himself and was soon consumed by another bout of amusement.  </p><p>‘It’s not funny. I could’ve died!’ She raised her hands in exasperation but he didn’t cease. </p><p>‘But you didn’t.’ </p><p>‘No, but I still could. If it gets infected, I’ll keel over and die. Stop laughing!’ Now she couldn’t help herself but smile at him and even let out a brief giggle.  </p><p>‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He spluttered. His face was overwhelmed by a grin and his eyes sparkled. ‘My deepest apologies for accidentally stabbing you.’ </p><p>‘And-’ </p><p>‘Gods, what else have I done? Did I accidentally run a spear through you? Did an arrow I once fletched catch you in the shoulder?’  </p><p>‘You laughed at me!’ She complained, rolling her eyes at his sarcasm. ‘You should never laugh at a Queen.’ She put her hand to her hips in mock authority. </p><p>‘Even when said Queen makes it difficult not to laugh at her?’  </p><p>‘Y-yes. Especially then.’ She was trying to be serious but the smile tugging at her lips was uncontrollable. She hadn’t found herself smiling, really smiling not just for show, for too long.  </p><p>‘Well, I can’t argue with you, your Grace. I shall never laugh at you again.’ He opened the door for them.  </p><p>‘Good.’ </p><p>‘Good.’ </p><p>They both burst into fits of giggles, startling the two guards at the door. Their expressions only fuelled her amusement.  </p><p>When her joy was finally controlled, they fell into step naturally with one another. The day was fine, the long-dreaded cold having come and gone so quickly, so she led him outside. Most people had returned to their normal lives. Men still trained with their dull blades and straw men, smiths laboured in the heat of the forges and the remaining armies continued their drills in the camps outside. She had barely noticed other people, in the past week, but now she watched them intently as they went about their business. The world had crashed down but they were building life back up. Men swarmed around the walls, replacing lost stones and the gate had been already replaced with extra steel reinforcements. <em> Life goes on... and so must we.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>Their time at Winterfell fell away quickly. The days passed quickly as many counted down the minutes before they’d be back in the warmth of the South again. Sansa was less excited to leave her home so recently won but she remained eager to complete her task and return the realm to the peace it so direly yearned for. She gathered each day with the commanders of each respective group of men and saw to the proper arrangements. Bran would serve as Lord of the keep in her absence and Pod, still recovering from his wounds but at least on his feet, would be staying behind to see to the everyday jobs that usually fell on Theon’s shoulders. Theon had made it very clear he wouldn’t miss out on the chance to see his Uncle burn.  </p><p>Sansa stayed at meals until most had taken their leave and revelled in the time spent with those closest to her. Arya was growing even worse at hiding her closeness to Gendry, Tormund Giantsbane entertained them all with his stories and Jaime and Brienne continued to dance on the edge of what Sansa knew both of them wanted. It was amusing to see them try to behave around each-other – <em> like doe-eyed children.  </em>When she did take her leave, she was rarely alone. She was always offered a drinking partner for the night and she rarely refused. On some nights she travelled down to the camps and shared cups with the wildlings and on others she sat with the Greyjoys and laughed at their bickering. Most of the nights she found herself retreating with Jaime, Brienne and Tyrion, sometimes with Ser Bronn, and they’d sit on the floor of her solar and swap jokes and tales until sleep forced them to their own rooms.  Sometimes Jaime even brought along the dark cat he’d rescued from King’s Landing. The little thing skittered across her seats and cushions and often ended up curled up in someone’s lap, often Brienne’s.  </p><p>On the morning of their departure from Winterfell, Sansa awoke early, dressed quickly in clothes suitable for travel and dropped down her stairs with ease. She’d taken to bed before the others that night, hoping that she could gain enough sleep to not exhaust herself the next day. With a few cups of wine in her, sleep had found her swiftly and she dreamt empty dreams that only served to hurry along the morn.  </p><p>‘Oi.’ Her solar wasn’t empty as she had expected. Sat back in an armchair, Ser Bronn was still dozing. She delivered a sharp kick to his leg and he awoke with a start.  </p><p>‘Hmm.’ He grumbled in annoyance, pulling himself up and out of the room with his eyes still half shut. She had no doubt by the time they saddled the horses, he’d be more awake than half the men. Bronn had a strange way of staying up to nearly the sunrise and still facing the day like a boy half his age. As he opened the door, another stepped through from the other side.  </p><p>‘Good morning, Sansa.’ Tyrion chipper voice hung in the air as she righted the dishevelled room. ‘You missed out on much last night.’ </p><p>‘Really?’ She looked upwards.  </p><p>‘Not really. We drank and Bronn fell asleep but-’ </p><p>‘Walk with me.’ She interrupted. </p><p>‘Oh yes, of course.’ Without missing a beat, he turned and they marched from her tower away.  </p><p>Without explanation she led him out into the yard, past the lines of horses, carts and wheelhouses already ready to leave and through the open gates. Once outside, she separated them from the men itching to leave and strode quickly in the opposite direction, towards the line of trees that shielded the weirwood grove. They entered the small clearing where the single, ancient tree looked down upon them with its bleeding eyes. It showed no signs that anything strange or important had happened there but she couldn’t see the empty ground without remembering the night of the dead. She could see Bran pinned against the tree itself, Arya flung to the side, the Dragonqueen with her sword of light and Jon, collapsed in the snow.  </p><p>‘Sansa-’ Tyrion’s voice quavered. He clasped her hand in his. She hadn’t put on any gloves but she didn’t feel the cold.  </p><p>‘I wanted to say goodbye.’ She explained quietly. The thought had occurred to her the night before that she wanted to see it once more before they left but she hadn’t planned what she’d do once she got there. She hadn’t expected Tyrion to join her but she couldn’t fault him for his presence.  </p><p>‘Why not the crypts?’ </p><p>‘Too much death. This isn’t the time for death.’ She travelled to the top of the crypt steps the day before but couldn’t bring herself to descend into the caverns below. Whenever she went down, she felt the eyes of her family burning into her and something told her it wasn’t just a feeling. Down there she was wrapped up in death and pain and the cold but what she needed was hope; she needed to leave Winterfell and its death behind her, for now.  </p><p>‘What did you want to tell me?’ She continued staring at the patch of grass where her brother had fallen, the snow had half melted away.  </p><p>‘Oh. Last night I believe my brother and Ser Brienne finally put us all out of our misery.’  </p><p>She wheeled around towards him, searching his face for a joke. He was sincere. ‘No-’ </p><p>‘Yes, Bronn insulted her or something and she stormed out. The gallant general had to follow her and when I went to check on them-’  </p><p>‘Thank the Gods.’ She smirked. ‘Hopefully now they’ll behave like normal people again.’ </p><p>‘Aye, it’s taken them long enough.’  </p><p>She met his searching gaze for a moment. It was nice to share gossip like she was back at King’s Landing, like she was someone like Margaery who enjoyed wrapping themselves in court intrigue. Tyrion’s look spoke of more than just gossip- there was something he wanted her to say, or at least allude to but she had yet to address it. Her mind flashed to the moment on the stairs when he’d taken hold of her and pressed their wine-stained lips together. In those few seconds everything else had melted away. They weren’t fighting the dead and she certainly wasn’t risking herself on the whim of a dream. She yearned to discuss it but her words fell away. <em> There’s a time and place, this is not it.  </em> </p><p>She nodded, focusing back on his news. That’s what she needed to hear in a time like this-something full of optimism. Jaime and Brienne proved that change was a very real thing and not just a myth from one of Old Nan’s stories. <em> If people can change then so can Westeros, so can we.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>We should probably head back, you’re freezing.’ She noticed her numb fingers and agreed, letting him lead her back towards the keep. Before she left the grove she paused and whispered to the weirwood. </p><p>‘Look after him.’  </p><p>At the raise of Tyrion’s eyebrows, she caught up and returned to Winterfell. Almost everyone was waiting out in the courtyard, including Daenerys who mustered a smile to see them approach. Sansa found her horse saddled and strapped with her belongings and let a squire help her up. Tyrion had opted to ride as well as found his own horse prepared with the saddle of his own design that allowed him to ride just as well as anyone else. He’d practiced during his time at Winterfell and seemed overjoyed that the filly took to his commands quickly. He pulled up beside her.  </p><p>‘You’ll be back soon.’ Brienne took the place to her other side. Sansa couldn’t help but smirk knowing what she knew. The newly knighted woman didn’t seem to notice and gave little away.  </p><p>Tywin Lannister sat in her ear and whispered to her - ‘<em> my daughter will still be the death of you’.  </em>Cersei Lannister flitted behind her eyes every time she closed them, her white hands reaching for her neck.  </p><p>‘I know.’ Sansa lied. She was terrible at lying.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Witch's Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ride to White Harbour was brisk and uneventful. With their numbers halved, the men moved swiftly through the snow-covered King’s Road, all eager to leave the frozen lands behind them- even Northmen seemed excited to travel South. She travelled with new people each today, as Theon told her Robb had once done. She enjoyed riding with her own Northmen the most, they were full of ideas or else stories from those who had travelled with her brother before. The wildlings were fine company too, generous with their wine skins and foods and full of bawdy tales of heroism beyond the wall. She spoke to their leaders too, Tormund and other clan chiefs, about the land in the Gift they’d begun to inhabit. Lord Commander Tollett had returned to Castle Black with the remainder of his Night’s Watch men but he promised open discussions with her over the future of the free folk. She listened to their queries and noted down all they said in her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Unsullied were less thrilling to ride beside. Few spoke to her at all and it was only </span>
  <span>Greyworm</span>
  <span> who would have a conversation with her. She had to rely on </span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span> who was more than willing to talk to get anything started. They shared their silence with their Queen who rode on high and mighty either on her horse or her dragon, regal but shut away from everyone else. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they passed through towns and villages, Sansa took her place at the front, followed by Margaery and Ser Brienne and she’d don her crown and dismount to speak with the ruling Lords or landowners and answer any questions they might have. Mostly, she was glad to get off horseback for a few hours and stretch her legs but she also knew the importance of being seen in her kingdom and speaking with her people. They offered her gifts, most of which she refused, citing their need as greater than her own, and soon they continued on their way South. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Wyman </span>
  <span>Manderly</span>
  <span> hosted them in the New Castle when they arrived at White Harbour, the afternoon before they were due to set off to sea. As always, he was courteous and welcoming, </span>
  <span>ecstatic</span>
  <span> to see his son returned to him and to have two Queens and their respective entourages within his halls at once. He had singers perform for them and a feast was prepared. The rest of the North may have been scraping by on the final harvests but there was never a shortage of fresh fish. </span>
  <span>Manderly</span>
  <span> boasted of his great stores of smoked and salted fish in barrels beneath the keep. He offered them several of them, which this time she accepted, and spent most of the evening praising the markets and harbour that continued to thrive even as winter dragged on. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wanted to tell to him about the state of the rest of the Kingdom. While he languished in plenty, everyone else starved and froze. He knew nothing of the trouble they had been to get even there but he remained ignorant, only pleased that he could impress where others failed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They dined on the </span>
  <span>dais,</span>
  <span> the fat Lord surrounded on either side by the two Queens. Sansa revelled in the dancing and singing while she repressed the urge to put the Lord in his place. She couldn’t fault his hospitality, at the very least, but his sure tone cut into her. As they ate, several prominent local merchants stood before the high table and introduced themselves. Sansa and Daenerys took turns sampling their produce and throwing their praise towards them. It was tedious, at times, when five different wine merchants begged for their reds to be sampled, but Sansa did enjoy some of the stranger fellows. A man from Bravvos brought a wild cat that stood taller than any man on his hind legs, straining against its iron collar. Another from Essos brought them a plate of matured cheeses and paired them with sweet berries or fresh herbs. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The last to approach was a woman. She wore a deep burgundy cloak, faded and far too thin to properly shield her against the sea winds. Her flaxen hair may once have impressed but hung limply around her long, thin face. She was slight and short, as if there was nothing of her at all. She carried a leather pouch at her hip and another, larger sack was swung across one shoulder. With slow, furtive steps, she approached the table and bowed her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Helaria.’ Lord Wyman spoke with a warning. ‘What business do you have here?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘To greet the Queens, as the others have.’ The woman replied, raising her head and flashing them her eyes. The colour in them had nearly faded completely away and, for a moment, Sansa thought she was a </span>
  <span>warg</span>
  <span>. At closer inspection, she could just make out a ring of icy blue in the pool of white. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s blind.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Who is this?’ Daenerys was the first to speak, leaning in towards the Lord. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> of the Free Cities, </span>
  <span>Seven</span>
  <span> knows which one. She came to us here many years ago fleeing her home. Some say she is a mage but I have never seen proof.’ He sat back in his hair. Sansa could tell he wasn’t fond of the woman standing in front of them. Younger, she may have been beautiful, but her youth had taken her looks away with it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It is an honour to stand in your presence, your Graces.’ The woman spoke in the common tongue perfectly, only a slight inflection giving away that she was raised elsewhere. ‘I can feel your power, Queen Daenerys. I can feel the </span>
  <span>dragonsblood</span>
  <span> in your veins. And you, Queen Sansa, your strength of will is like a light to me but there is a darkness too. You are surrounded by death, as well as life.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘See? Poppycock and mummery.’ Wyman exclaimed, throwing his hands up. ‘Anyone can say that a woman with dragons is powerful and that one who has endured so much has the strength of will. When you predict something useful, like where the shoals will be tomorrow morning, you remain a leech on my good honour. Trouble us no more.’ He raised a finger and pointed towards the doors. A guard stepped forward to remove her but she went willingly, finding her way outside without any help. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You are surrounded by death.’ She wasn’t wrong about that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She couldn’t help but wonder over the woman for the </span>
  <span>remainder</span>
  <span> of the night. She stared for some minutes at the doors she’d left through, wondering if she’d come back and, when everyone parted for the night, she didn’t go with the others, excusing herself to get some air. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span>, the witch-woman, where would I find her?’ She asked several guards and servants but none could give her a straight answer. Some </span>
  <span>described</span>
  <span> and ancient grotto carved out into the cliffs. For others she dwelled in a hovel that pumped incense and herbs into the street. Someone told her she didn’t need sleep at all and flitted between homes, offering her sight to the wealthy and poor alike. At last, she got a more definite answer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She has a hut between here and the port, a ten-minute ride. The Lord granted it to her when she first arrived and hasn’t been able to reclaim it since.’ That at least seemed to fit what Wyman had said of her earlier. Sansa thanked the guard who pointed it out to her profusely and left the keep for the stables. Brushing off their questions and strange looks, she selected a horse and set off in the direction of the witch’s hut. The guard was right, the journey was swift and, even in the evening darkness, she could see the outline of the outbuilding clearly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It glowed with light from within and a chimney protruding from the thatched roof sent puffs of smoke into the clouded sky. Once she tied up her horse </span>
  <span>and</span>
  <span> straightened herself, Sansa knocked lightly on the door. When there came no response, she tried again harder. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace, come-come sit.’ The ageing woman threw open the door that only just stayed on its hinges and beckoned her inside. The room within was as small as it looked from the outside, taking up the entire hut. Two chairs, draped in frayed blankets were set up close to the fire but Sansa could also see tables filled with herbs and food as well as a bed in the same room. With a nod of gratitude, she set herself down on one of the threadbare seats. On a small cushioned footstall in front of them, a tray had been set out with two cups already filled with steaming amber liquid. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you expecting someone?’ Sansa smiled uneasily as </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> took her place opposite her. She shook her head wordlessly and began to hum to herself. ‘You knew I was coming?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t know, I’m no seer.’ She shot Sansa a strange look. ‘But I did see something in your eye when I spoke. You were the one who most interested me so it seems the feeling is mutual. Drink up, I promise it’s not poisoned.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa, who hadn’t feared the witch had poisoned her drink, now did. When she continued to gesture to it though, her manners took over and she picked it up instinctively and took a small testing sip. The hot liquid burned but in a pleasant way. She tasted ginger and honey and a dash of lemon. It wiped the cold from her and settled her constantly writhing stomach. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have questions, speak up.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you know any prophecies – one's that have already been partially fulfilled?’ Sansa leaned slightly forward, allowing herself a larger gulp of the tea. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have heard a thousand in my lifetime. Which one do you seek?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘One known by Tywin Lannister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And?’ </span>
  <span>Helaria’s</span>
  <span> brows were furrowed tightly. ‘Who does it involve? Who spoke it and when?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa thought hard but nothing came to her. She was working on the little information that a dead man had bothered to give her. She knew it was nothing at all. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’ She refilled their cups. ‘But you didn’t just come here to ask me that, did you?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wasn’t truly sure why she’d come. The question of the unknown prophecy that marked her for death troubled her deeply but she’d only thought about it when she entered the hut. She’d followed the witch out of a macabre curiously. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not be ashamed, your Grace. Do you know how many great Lords and Ladies visit me and those like me with the same questions on their tongue? All we want in life are answers. When we are children, we go </span>
  <span>accustomed</span>
  <span> to them being answered whenever we ask but when we grow older- some of us must seek other methods to clear the haze.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who are you?’ The woman was remarkably well-spoken for one having fled from the free-cities. She hadn’t met many slaves but the Unsullied that had spoken to her that knew the common tongue spoke it clumsily and couldn’t get the tone right. The woman had lived in Westeros longer, she gave her that, but her accent was almost better than her own. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Does it matter? Give me your hand, Queen’s blood is particularly potent.’ She held out her thin, dark spotted hands. Her misted eyes seemed to have somehow darkened. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t come here to engage in some strange magic for </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>mummer's</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> tales. I should go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She saw herself raise her hand to the woman and though she begged herself to leave, she remained rooted to her seat. </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> drew a dirk from her waist and adeptly slit it across Sansa’s palm. She ran her thumb along the open cut seeming scarlet and collected up as much blood as she could. Before Sansa could react, she slipped her thumb into her mouth and sucked it clean. Sansa retracted her hand and pressed the cut with the other. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ask away, child.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘W-will we reach King’s Landing?’ It was the first thought that came to her mind. She realised later that there were a hundred better questions she could have asked but she had been worrying about the next stretch of their journey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Euron</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> finds us, we’ll be food for the fish. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>You will reach the Golden city in the arms of one who would betray you.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One who would betray me? Who would betray me? Who would I let lead me to the city without the rest of the army? That doesn’t sound right. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Something told her the cryptic clues would be all she would be receiving. She chose to move on. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will we defeat Cersei?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Three Queens shall stand in the halls, one shall leave, one will fall and the other will welcome her love’s embrace.’ The witch spoke in a rasp of a voice, shifting more into her original accent. She held herself up strangely high and didn’t blink. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me, Daenerys and Cersei, we must be the three Queens. Then again, what about </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Myrcella</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>? I can only wish that I am the one to leave but if I am that leaves them dead or in ‘love’s embrace’. What does that even mean? </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Trystane</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> could be </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Myrcella’s</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> love but Daenerys and Cersei have no one that would fit. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa came to a realisation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to be the one to fall. I have no love to speak of to embrace me and, if I leave, Daenerys and Cersei may both die, or else </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Myrcella</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. I used to love riddles but now they make my head hurt even more than usual. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t think of a last question. These things usually came in threes. Her second seemed to prove what Tywin had told her months before. The path hadn’t changed, her fate was still set. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will the North be safe?’ It was all else she could think of </span>
  <span>that mattered</span>
  <span> to her. If she had to die in the South, she wanted to do so knowing all she had fought for wouldn’t crumble away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The North will never be safe but you shall be Queen once again.’ The woman paused as Sansa fell into a contemplative silence. ‘I can give you one more answer, if you have another question.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She almost said no but something came to mind. ‘Will we know peace, in the South too?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm-’ the witch appeared to be searching especially hard for this answer. ‘The realm shall be healed, then the Dragon will rule.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With a gasp, she slumped down in her seat and left the room in empty silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she came to, Sansa was gone, back on her horse and up to the keep. Her mind flooded as she rode in the still air. None of what the woman said made sense. If she was set to die, how would she be Queen once again? And what could she mean by ‘again’? The last answer was the one that played the most heavily on her thoughts. That one was the clearest yet the most confusing. If the realm would be healed before Daenerys took the throne, then someone else would claim it before them, and, she guessed, do a good job on the throne. Sansa wracked her brains for anyone who would have the capability to insert themself in King’s Landing without already drawing attention. They would need to be a just and honourable person too, if </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> was to be right that they would heal what had been long corrupt. Nobody came to mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Years ago, it would have been easy to pick through the various men preparing themselves for war over the throne. Stannis sat in Dragonstone, Renly in the Reach and Robb travelled slowly through the </span>
  <span>Riverlands</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They are all dead and none would be able to do as the witch says, even if they still lived. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She doubted even Robb alone could bring such peace to the entire realm when his eyes were so focused on their family and the North. She knew she was just the same. Stannis and Renly may have been adequate Kings but, from what she heard, she couldn’t see either of them as being brilliant. She </span>
  <span>believed</span>
  <span> Daenerys, if she truly ‘broke the wheel’, could make a difference but who could do all of that before her?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took herself to bed without bothering to alert anyone to her return. A guard was helpful enough to show her to the portion of the New Castle where the others were staying and he had the good sense not to ask where she’d been. Once again, she found herself desperate for sleep but deprived of it as prophecies and the words of crones seeped into each thought. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> had said people make their own fate and that gave her some hope at the very least. Try as she might however, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dreadful foreboding. Securing King’s Landing wouldn’t be as easy as letting </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> yield the city and enjoying the celebrations after the executed the lioness- she could see that now. Try as she might, there would be death and resistance to Daenerys on the throne, if she ever even saw that in her lifetime. A dragon could refer to any one of Targaryen blood and, though Dany was the last, that didn’t mean she would be the last ever. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The cool air had turned sticky hot. She pushed back the shutters from her window and opened the glass pane. In the near-distance, she could just make out their ships on the harbour, bobbing with the gentle waves. When she breathed in the cold air, she was back at Winterfell, staring from her own windows into the trees beyond. The sea was stretches of fields and mountains and the ships were the villages and towns dotted around them. Her home would never be safe but, in a way, neither would any of the ships. They existed solely on uncertain waters, always fighting to keep afloat even in calm weather. Sometimes the waves dropped and rose at such speed and force that ships were knocked over and their crew drowned but most of the time they didn’t succumb. Those who sailed on them all knew the risk but they went anyway. The North would never be safe, the witch hadn’t said anything new. What that was worth saving could ever be completely protected?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa let her eyes droop close at she kicked her legs beneath her on the padded seat by the window. It was a nice thought, or perhaps dream, that the North was not as doomed as she was. It was at risk but it always had been and always would be, just as she was. The cold air fluttered over her skin like light kisses, she smiled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Winter isn’t so bad. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>on the horizon?’ Tyrion awaited the Queen on the deck of the command ship. Behind him, the crew worked quickly around the great giant that had just carefully dropped its rider on board. Daenerys wiped her brow and stalked quickly in his direction.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing.’ She spoke with absolute certainty. As they passed round the Fingers, winter began to drop away. It was still much colder that these parts ever got but the bitter chill of the North was left behind. They’d set sail from White Harbour several days ago in a great fleet of their mis-matched ships- merchants, war galleys and some smaller skiffs they borrowed to fit the last few men on. They’d been installed on the command ship, with Asha Greyjoy at its helm, and the Northerners sailed in its sister ship at the hand of Theon. Although he thought it was over-cautious, it was deemed safe that the two Queen were kept on separate ships, in case </span>
  <span>Euron</span>
  <span> Greyjoy did decide to show his face. So far, the waters were clear and calm, handled effortlessly by the woman who took to the water like a dragon takes to the skies. Margaery Tyrell chose to remain on their ship as well. She claimed it was because of her sea-sickness but he’d have to be a fool not to notice the number of times the Tyrell rose slipped from her chambers into the captain’s quarters when she thought no one was awake. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep put up a fight against him each and every night – he had to wrangle it and force himself into its cool embrace. Eventually, it took him but no sooner had he slipped into empty </span>
  <span>dreams,</span>
  <span> someone was knocking at his cabin door to face the day ahead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As had been agreed, Dany rode above the ships every day, flying ahead and scouting for any signs of the fleet marked by the Crow’s Eye. So far, their luck had been good- he could only hope they’d make it all the way to </span>
  <span>Maidenpool</span>
  <span> as Sansa had suggested. Sometimes he caught sight of his wife on board the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Young Wolf, </span>
  </em>
  <span>named for her lost brother before the Red Wedding. A flash of red hair and her elongated frame on the prow of the deck drew his eye more than once. He couldn’t be sure that she ever saw him but he couldn’t blame her, his size often made him easy to miss on such a large vessel surrounded by so many. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He followed his Queen inside where she set herself down on a seat in the Royal Chambers. After seeing his own cabin, he realised there was nothing different about the rooms Daenerys had been gifted but he didn’t dare bring that up. Her empty expression and cold tone were enough for him. He tried to get through to her, tried to make her smile or at least distract her with anything else but the melancholy never left her eyes. She’d done an unspeakable thing for the sake of everyone else but he could still see her constantly weighing up her decision in her head. He knew a moment didn’t go by in which she didn’t wonder whether she’d done the right thing. He hadn’t been there himself but, by the stories told to him, she’d done what was needed but that didn’t mean it was easy. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now it all has to be worth something. If it’s not, she’ll be ruined. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t the fire within her that had died, she spat commands with the same ferocity he knew from </span>
  <span>Meereen</span>
  <span>. She was still the dragon in every respect. It was the part of her that wasn’t that had vanished from sight. He’d known her only a short time but enough to know she deserved the other titles beside </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span>. She was a mother to many and a breaker of chains. </span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span> had told the stories she knew of Dany freeing slaves and burning their cruel masters. He’d seen her compassion himself on many occasions. She wasn’t just fire just as Jon was not just ice. Her brother had been just fire, from what he heard, but it was her heart that set her apart from him and meant she was the one reclaiming the Targaryen throne and not him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If she lost her heart, she wouldn’t be the same woman he agreed to serve but he could find </span>
  <span>no</span>
  <span> way to help her find it again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Asha says we are just a few days from </span>
  <span>Maidenpool</span>
  <span>. The waters will grow narrow but the ships can still pass in threes and anchor there.’ He hoped that would brighten her spirits. Removing Cersei was the only thing that kept them going. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That is good to hear.’ She responded simply, ‘anything else?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, your Grace. Doubtless more news will reach us when we reach land again. Varys cannot get any information out here.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen nodded and gestured for him to leave her. He </span>
  <span>hesitated</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is the plan when we reach King’s Landing?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, you were there when we settled on it.’ She huffed, agitated. ‘The armies will surround the keep and await Queen Myrcella. If the city is not yielded in a day, the dragons will destroy their defences and the army shall move in a we shall take it by force.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If the bells ring out, that means they’re yielding.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ She replied curtly. He could tell she was not in the wood for conversation but he persisted anyway.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then what, after Cersei is defeated?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I rule. Sansa and her Northmen will return to Winterfell and we will put this behind us.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment, something had been plaguing him. The friendship between North and South had relied heavily on Jon and Daenerys. Without him, she hadn’t spoken much to Sansa and in council meetings they often differed sharply. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And what of the North. Will you allow their independence?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She paused. ‘That is to be decided.’ She answered him vaguely and her face betrayed her own lack of certainty. He could have said, without a doubt, that before, she would’ve granted Sansa the North without question but now she didn’t seem so sure. That was a worrying discovery. His loyalty was to the Queen he served, it had to be, but he couldn’t help but be concerned for his wife’s hold on the pretty crown at her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The North won’t bow to you, you know that.’ He warned her, gently.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perhaps, but now things are different. I am the blood of the Dragon </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Azor </span>
  <span>Ahai</span>
  <span> reborn, their Queen is just one wolf.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion knew that wasn’t quite true. Not only had Sansa proved her strength many times, there was something else that he couldn’t pinpoint that set her apart from others. He was certain he’d caught her speaking to no one at all before, as if they were right beside her and </span>
  <span>sometimes</span>
  <span> he saw her mind drift elsewhere, only for her to return with newfound resolution. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He recalled Daenerys’ words to Asha Greyjoy in a time that felt years ago, back at Dragonstone. ‘There will be war’ she said in a beat. It wasn’t what Sansa wanted, she made that clear, but he didn’t doubt she’d take up arms if yet another war was on the horizon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But Daenerys has dragons. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing the North could produce would outmatch them but they’d fight nonetheless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And the realm will burn completely. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And here I am, once again mediating between war and peace, life and death- and I still can’t get her to bloody listen. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He could see in her eyes now she was planning out the scenarios they would face against the North. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s surrounded by darkness and can’t see the light shining directly in her face. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed heavily. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trust me to constantly find myself on the side of the aggressors. I am allergic to the concept of peace and happiness. I’m not yet thirty yet my bones already ache from the pressure and my mind never ceases to pound with visions of the future ahead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He believed in Daenerys Targaryen- if he didn’t, he might as well have thrown himself into the icy waters at that moment – but he couldn’t help but fret over her. She didn’t look herself, she refused </span>
  <span>Missandei’s</span>
  <span> offers to braid her hair as she normally kept it so it hung loosely about her shoulders. Part of her dress had caught on Rheagal’s spines but she hadn’t bothered to have to mended. Her eyes were set deep in her pale skin and she ate little and never let him loosen her up with wine. He hadn’t seen her smile in weeks. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A dragon in mourning was a sorry sight but it was her guilt that kept her mouth drawn into a straight line and her brow furrowed in unbreakable concentration. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If she continues like this, she might doom us all. At least we’ll take Cersei down to the Seven hells with us. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After several days of constant alertness, the Northern fleet secured its final ship in the </span>
  <span>Maidenpool</span>
  <span> Harbour. With their ships manoeuvring through the narrow pass, Sansa knew will it would’ve been the optimum time for </span>
  <span>Euron</span>
  <span> to attack from behind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cersei is keeping him close, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she concluded as she watched from the harbour as the last ship lowered anchor, </span>
  <em>
    <span>which means she’s scared. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That struck Sansa as strange, while she may have acquired the army of the North and the Unsullied, their numbers had been struck heavily by the dead, word was sure to have got around. Besides that, Cersei could rely on the armies of Dorne and most of the West to come to the </span>
  <span>city’</span>
  <span>s defence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’re you thinking about?’ Tyrion Lannister had sidled up to her without a sound. It was almost unnerving how good he was at that. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your sister.’ She muttered gravely. He nodded in understanding and joined her watching the men unload themselves and their wagons and carts from the last few ships. When the last was emptied, she took her leave and he followed on as they joined the others. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is everything alright?’ Sansa read the circle quickly. Assembled on the harbour were Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Margaery, Lord Varys and Daenerys Targaryen. Each one bore a similar expression of dread. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘News, your Grace.’ The Eunuch began in his sickly-sweet voice. In his hand he held a stack of papers, whispers from his many little birds that he’d had send ahead to </span>
  <span>Maidenpool</span>
  <span>. ‘The Queen Cersei has commissioned the Golden Company to defend King’s Landing. The latest word was that </span>
  <span>Euron</span>
  <span> Greyjoy’s fleet had just arrived with them on board.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa cursed to herself. The armies of the West and Dorne would be made up of some </span>
  <span>experienced</span>
  <span> men with many others who had barely lifted a sword in their lives. The Golden Company, from what she’d heard, were nothing like that. Each man had been rigorously trained for years. The </span>
  <span>sellswords</span>
  <span> had the best armour, the best supplies, being the most desired company available. They’d never broken a contract either- the only escape from one had to be death. Her stomach dropped and she felt her skin flush slightly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many do they have?’ She asked tentatively. She didn’t really want to hear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘10,000.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her stomach lurched even further. Before the Battle of Winterfell, she counted around 28,000 men at their disposal. That had dropped to just over 14,000 afterwards. There were already several thousand men garrisoning the city, the Iron fleet with its thousands of Iron Born, men from the West that would surely have travelled to protect the Lannister Queen and several thousand more from Dorne. The numbers had kept Sansa awake for many a night as she valued their chances and weighed different methods of attack and it had always been close. Now the Golden Company swung the odds heavily in Cersei’s favour. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We still have two dragons.’ Daenerys insisted with certainty. The two dragons in question could both be seen and heard above the port, chasing one another </span>
  <span>across</span>
  <span> the sky before dipping behind the distant hills. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cersei knows we have </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>dragons,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> she’d be a fool not to come up with some way to counter them. For all we know she’s found something even mightier to surprise us with. The Golden Company have elephants, don’t they? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say anything. The </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen’s</span>
  <span> assurances had returned some optimism to those around her; it wasn’t right to whip it away so mercilessly. Plus, she couldn’t imagine Daenerys’ fury at her for doubting the ability of her children. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Helaria</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> said the realm would heal. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa considered in the following silence. It wasn’t really silent; Varys was sharing other news they’d missed since they left White Harbour but she only listened in the background and didn’t hear anything that interested her. If the witch thought that Westeros would come out of it better, that meant Cersei couldn’t win- nothing could heal while she remained in power. That gave her some hope, at the very least, but she was sceptical of putting all her faith in the words of a reclusive witch. That was the same reason she had yet to share the fortunes </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> had given her. It would be nice to tell the others that luck was on their side but she didn’t want to risk giving them false hope over fanciful dreams. She’d sought out the witch, her words were her burden to keep. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the men continued to reassemble themselves, Sansa took a walk among the town connected to the currently bursting port. She chose to wear her silver crown upon her tight braids but the people didn’t look at her the same way they did in the North. They didn’t bow their heads or offer her many gifts when she passed. Some looked down, out of respect or amusement, and others ignored her completely. The most common response was the turning to one’s group and engaging in many whispers and gossip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I am part Tully, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminded herself as she vacantly browsed the stalls of fresh fish, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Riverlands</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> are the lands of my family, especially now the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Freys</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> are gone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her mother’s Uncle, the Blackfish, had died protecting Riverrun, his nephew in </span>
  <span>capacity</span>
  <span> whilst the </span>
  <span>Freys</span>
  <span> reclaimed his new wife. When Lord Frey was killed at her sister’s hand, Sansa had heard word that the remaining forces had fallen to chaos, some remaining but most </span>
  <span>separating</span>
  <span> in all directions. Those that were left were easily defeated by the Tully forces and the keep was returned to its rightful owners. That being said, she had heard nothing of the fate of her Uncle </span>
  <span>Edmure</span>
  <span> since his capture. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose drew her to a baker’s cart outside his shop, which was just closing for the afternoon. She hurried over and called out for his attention. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah.’ He exclaimed. He held his lips open as he regarded her, trying to place her face and her crown. ‘You must be Queen Sansa. ‘Ave you come to see your Uncle?’ He stopped tidying away and clapped his hands together, pleased with himself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Uncle? You know of him? Is he well?’ She sparked up, eyes bright and hopeful. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah yes, the Lord’s been returned safe. Can’t say if he’s well enough – I heard they had him up on the galley’s every day with his head in a noose. Bloody Frey dogs.’ He spat out the last few words and she smiled in return. She barely knew her Uncle and had seem him only when she was much younger if he happened to make the journey North to visit his sister. Still, just as the news of her aunt’s death had pained her, the news of his luck briefly chased away the seeds of doubt that Varys’ news had sown. She couldn’t hide the relief on her face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is there anything you’d like?’ He gestured to his wares when she made no reply. She looked down and examined the wooden stall. He mostly stocked loaves of varying sizes and cuts as well as an assortment of fresh pastries that were particularly </span>
  <span>appetising</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My men haven’t had fresh food for some time, I’ll take it all, if you can part with it.’ She smiled broadly, reaching for her coin purse. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please, your Grace, take it. You don’t need to pay.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I insist.’ She dropped a handful of coins onto the wood and pushed them towards him. The good news among all the bad had filled her with an intense glee. She thought nothing of rewarding the man who told her amply. With a chuckle, he rounded up the coins and skipped into his bakery. He emerged with a young boy, only seven or eight years of age, who carried several crates lined in white linen that were filled with the leftover goods. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A thought came to her. ‘Do you have any lemon cake?’ It had been so long since she’d had one and the smell of the pastries reminded her of her favourite sweet treat. Her mouth watered. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked through over the boxes and table. ‘I’m sorry, your Grace. We had some earlier but I sold the last couple to another just a few minutes ago. I can see if we’ve any inside or if you’re staying the night we can-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t go to any trouble.’ She raised her hands to slow him down. She was disappointed but she fought to hide it from her face. Gratefully, she took one box herself and led the boy towards where most of the carts and wagons were </span>
  <span>being</span>
  <span> loaded. They were dropped neatly nearby, ready to be dispersed later on. She walked back with him most the way and, when his father came into view waving, she let him run off home. She made the trip back towards the others with a small spring in her step. She didn’t think of the Golden Company- if she did, she’d go insane for sure. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cakes, my Queen?’ Brienne was looking over the newly arrived crates with Margaery. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And fresh bread,’ she pointed out, ‘something nice for getting so far.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How wonderful.’ Margaery chirped. She too seemed to be ignoring the great weight dropped on them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How’s it coming along?’ Sansa pulled in beside her Commander of the Queensguard.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nearly there, we’ll be ready before nightfall. It’ll be best to make camp just along the road from here and start afresh in the morning.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa nodded and helped them haul the crates onto the wagon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They will be a fine treat when we are settled. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her stomach grumbled in expectation and she retrieved a dry cracker from her pack which she nibbled on slowly to settle herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, just before nightfall, the men were ready. As always, Sansa, Daenerys and their respective followers took the lead through the streets and would fall behind to the well protected middle when they moved into open land. By the time darkness had completely fallen, they’d chosen a section of open fields near enough to the road and the camp was being pitched. An hour later, Sansa was sitting in her own tent, grateful to be off her feet after distributing the breads and pastries to everyone else. She had been left with a thick crust of bread and she used it to sop up the thick stew that was heated over the largest campfire. It was some of the best food she’d ever had. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa?’ A quiet voice muttered at the door to the tent. Those guarding her had seen it fitting to let him pass so she didn’t fret and called out for them to enter. Tyrion pushed the fabric aside and walked into the light. In his hand, he carried a small linen wrapped carefully. ‘I bring gifts for the Queen.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A token of House Lannister’s friendship?’ She mused aloud with a smirk. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gods, no.’ He chuckled as he lay in out on top of her furs.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With eager fingers, she cast aside the wrap and her eyes grew wide at the contents. Two perfect lemon cakes, still looking soft and fresh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My favourite,’ she muttered, mostly to herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ He smiled warmly. Without seeking permission, not that it was needed, he pushed himself up on the bed and picked one of the cakes up. ‘You know I’ve never had one myself?’ He sunk his teeth into the sponge and hummed in satisfaction. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lord Tywin really did despise you.’ She followed suit, picking up her own slice and taking a bite. The sharp lemon combined with the light sponge brought back a thousand memories. Lemon cakes were her favourite because they were a rarity in Winterfell. No lemon trees grew in the cold so they’d only get any my chance or for special occasions. She mostly had them on her name days and they never disappointed. Somehow, after being deprived of them for so long, they tasted even sweeter. She giggled as she spilled crumbs into her hand beneath but she didn’t care what she looked like. Once again, everything else melted away, just like the moment on the stairs when-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion was looking at her. Not in a strange way, or one that made her uncomfortable but his eyes had drifted from the cake to her and he looked on in, what was it? Appreciation? Respect? She hadn’t been looked at like that before. It brought colour to her cheeks. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just like you remember?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Better.’ She grinned, licking her lips in the most lady-like manner she could manage. ‘Thank you, Tyrion.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well it may be our last.’ His smile faded away. It was clear he hadn’t dismissed the Golden Company so easily. As soon as she saw his expression change, the same thoughts came flooding back. The moment of peace and sweet cakes was gone. The real world reared its ugly face and bore its sharp teeth. What they needed had to be no short of a miracle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If my uncle </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Edmure</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> is Lord Paramount of the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Riverlands</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> once again, he may be able to send us forces, as he did with Robb. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She could only pray that the men at her Uncle’s command had not been so weakened by the Freys as she expected. For a moment she wished they had marched the entire way North to South, it may have taken longer and entailed more dangers but she knew well that they’d pick up camp followers and hedge knights desperate to prove their worth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll need every sword we can get, even with the dragons.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The lemon cake was gone. The slice was large but she’d still made light work of it as they ate in silence. She wished she could’ve enjoyed it properly, with a clear mind with which she could truly focus on the flavours. If the witch was to be believed, that day might never come and Tyrion would be right that it could be her last. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No amount of sweetness can mask the bitter truths we face, and no moments of bliss can last forever. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Thank you, Tyrion. You didn’t have to.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I’d be a fool to see them and not immediately buy them for you, wouldn’t I?’ He pushed himself onto his feet and began across the tent floor. She watched him leave in deep thought. Her Commander of her </span>
  <span>Queensguard</span>
  <span> and her sister had both seized the objects of their heart. They knew their time could be short and they hadn’t </span>
  <span>hesitated</span>
  <span> to ensure the chance wasn’t wasted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And here I am acting the perfect, grateful Queen while he goes out of his way just for the sake of a cake, for a smile. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d caught him looking at her from the deck of the ship that twinned her own when she’d taken to the air herself. She managed not to stare but could sense his eyes flitting between her and the expanse of sea before them. If it were anyone else, she’d be most offended to be looked at in such a way. His smirks and raised brows were far from what she was taught as respectable and yet it didn’t bother her at all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I might even enjoy it. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <span>collapsed</span>
  <span> backwards into the bed, cursing herself for not saying anything else bar her thanks. Then again, she couldn’t fathom what she would actually say to him, if she were willing to be completely candid. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her time was running short and that she’d regret each and every wasted opportunity. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A wash of jealously crashed upon her. She’d rarely cared for what others had and what she didn’t. She was raised as a Lady with almost everything she could ask for. She sometimes caught herself longing for the life of a Southern Lady of the Court but such dreams were never serious – she was content if ambitious. Some had asked her if she was jealous of the fair Margaery Tyrell when she made her debut at court and was promised to the King. Sansa had to repress her instinct to laugh in their face. She pitied Margaery for her betrothal and though she appreciated the girl’s beauty and charm like everyone else, she never desired it for herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now those that surrounded her truly had something she did not. Brienne and Jaime had found each-other and Arya had found Gendry, someone she thought long lost to her. Margaery suited her position well and seemed to have caught the eye of Asha Greyjoy- neither were ever glum in each-other’s presence. Theon and Jeyne had been through so many horrors </span>
  <span>together</span>
  <span> but even they had found something sweet out of it. That sort of sweetness was different from a cake, it was meant to last and not be flitted away in a matter of seconds. In the times of crisis, so many had found someone to warm their bed, to sit beside them at meals and enjoy the evenings together. Sansa just placed herself between such couples and stole their time away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, the Golden Company is preparing to slaughter us all and all I can think of is my empty bed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At the thought she laughed at herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How foolish can I be? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She soon sat up, disrobed and found herself back beneath her furs, still staring at the top of the tent. Her bed was still empty, even she felt half a corpse in it. Her body was duly warmed by the covers stacked on top of her but she couldn’t stop the coldness within. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m marked for death. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t help but constantly remind herself. The fires had tried to consume her once before but she escaped with her life. This time, they would not be so merciful. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She fell to sleep with dreams of her Uncle riding to her rescue, the full force of the </span>
  <span>Riverlands</span>
  <span> at his back. She was Tyrion, at the Battle of Blackwater and he was Ser </span>
  <span>Garlan</span>
  <span> Tyrell, saving their forces from certain death. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Except the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Riverlands</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> are a poor intimation of what they used to be and we have no back entrance to fool Cersei like Tyrion had. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When she awoke, there were no reinforcements. There was no word from Riverrun and the cloud of </span>
  <span>melancholy</span>
  <span> had yet to lift. They marched on. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What else can we do? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. The Cracked Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa was taking a turn around the camp after eating in the command tent. She was drifting around a campfire where a group of wildlings were playing an unfamiliar drinking game when she caught sight of an Unsullied escort amongst the men and, at the centre, a flash of silver hair. Sansa had been eager to speak to the Dragonqueen since they landed at Maidenpool but Daenerys always managed to excuse herself. She seized the moment, springing toward the Unsullied, who parted for her, and falling in beside Daenerys.  </p><p>‘Queen Sansa?’ The shorter-woman called out in moderate surprise. She’d long abandoned her thick cloaks and heavy gowns and was wearing a simpler, but still fine, dress of black satin that was movable enough for riding whilst still appearing royal enough. Sansa admired the simplicity of the design and made a mental note to try something similar for herself. ‘Are you well? Is everything okay?’ </p><p>‘Everything’s fine.’ She took the older woman’s arm and redirected her path. ‘I have been longing to speak to you, in private. Can you spare a few minutes?’  </p><p>‘I-’ Daenerys’ head darted around. Put under pressure, she seemed unable to think up a reason not to go with her. ‘Of course.’ She eventually muttered. The Unsullied moved without fault as they kept their formation around them. Enclosed among their bodies, Sansa felt they were at war and she was being secretly transported out of danger. She found Daenerys’ theatrics a little much in the camp. She rarely travelled with an escort, largely trusting Brienne with her protection. Sometimes she travelled completely alone. <em> I have no one to fear within my own camp- no one bar the one that will betray me,  </em> <em> apparently </em> <em> .  </em>The Dragonqueen had less faith in the Northern strangers so was rarely seen without a full entourage.  </p><p>They reached Sansa’s tent, with its Stark banners hammered into the ground outside the deep grey material. She parted the opening and gestured for Dany to go first. With a signal to her Unsullied, the Dragonqueen obeyed and the eunuchs dispersed. Sansa nodded to the Stark guard outside and entered. The material walls and floors covered with rugs and furs gave the tent a warmth that usually only a fire could provide. She loosened her cloak and set it upon some crates. A small table was set up in the space and Sansa offered the Targaryen Queen one of the seats while she brought over a tray of wine. She poured them both a cup and they settled down.  </p><p>Sipping her cup carefully, Daenerys cast a thoughtful look over her fellow Queen. Sansa realised how little time they’d spent together, not just since they’d left the ships behind, but since Winterfell at all. Even trapped within the same walls, they’d managed to keep a fair distance apart and only came together in councils. Sansa couldn’t completely blame Daenerys; she too had been unwilling to address the block between him since Winterfell and had hoped it would melt away as the weather warmed. It hadn’t, and Sansa eventually found herself needing to heal the rift, especially with King’s Landing just a few days march away.  </p><p>‘Is everything in order, Sansa?’ Daenerys asked quietly, curtly. There was almost an accusation in her tone.  </p><p>‘I believe so.’ She couldn’t help but match her coldness. </p><p>‘What is it you needed to speak to me about then? I can’t profess to being the best company at the moment. My mind is often elsewhere.’ </p><p>‘As is mine.’ Sansa rested her hand on the table and took a moment to admire her own skin. <em> Focus, Sansa. ‘ </em>I thought, with King’s Landing so close, it would be best for us to speak, about -’ </p><p>‘Jon.’ Daenerys finished. Her normally bright eyes were dull.  </p><p>‘Yes.’ Sansa nodded. For a second neither said a word, both drinking in the sour memories. ‘I don’t want there to be tension between us.’  </p><p>‘Neither do I, but no one would fault you for hating me. It doesn’t have to affect us.’ She shrugged.  </p><p>‘I don’t hate you.’ Sansa reached her hand on the table forward and rested in gently on Daenerys’s wrist. She looked up, her face didn’t soften.  </p><p>‘You should. I killed your brother.’  </p><p>Her words stung but Sansa kept her smile. ‘It had to be that way. I don’t blame you for what happened. I’m not saying we can put it completely behind us but if we work together, we can bring peace to our kingdoms.’ <em> That is what we both want – yes? </em> </p><p><em> ‘Our  </em>Kingdoms?’ The Dragonqueen mused, the words sounding bitter on her tongue. Those two words alone were a sharp enough blow for Sansa to drop her smile and retract her hands. Since Daenerys Targaryen arrived in the North, she’d been under no suspicion that her position in the North would be in danger. In the first letter she sent, and ever since, Daenerys had referred to Sansa as Queen or your Grace. Now her cutting tone had lost all its warmth and comradeship.  </p><p>‘Aye.’ She kept her voice firm. ‘We both fought for what we were owed.’ </p><p>‘You say ‘we’ like we’re the same.’ The Dragonqueen’s eyes had flitted elsewhere across the tent. She didn’t care much for the implications of what she was saying. ‘I’m fighting for the seven kingdoms- my blood right stolen from me by the woman who I seek to destroy. The only right you fought for was for Winterfell and you’re here for revenge – or justice, if you wish to call it that. I am a Queen by birth, what are you?’  </p><p>Sansa’s blood thumped in her ear but she did her best not to show it. The rage she’d so long pressed down once again threatened to spill out of her lips.  </p><p>‘My people named me Queen- I earnt my position but I never <em> sought out </em> a crown. I never had ambitions for anything more than what I was owed.’ She crossed her hands on the table.  </p><p><em> ‘ </em> And yet...if I sat here and asked you for the crown you never  <em> really  </em>wanted, would you give it to me? If you really think I can bring this peace you desire?’ The Dragon’s eyes flashed in their violet fires.  </p><p>‘I have responsibility to my people. And to be frank, your Grace,’ she laced her words with venom, ‘they don’t want you. I’m sure you’ll do well on the Iron Throne but North of the Neck, you’d fall on your own sword.’ She reached forward and took a long swig of her wine. It was not quite warm or cold, which was unsettling.  </p><p>‘Is that a threat?’ She raised her voice in her accusation.  </p><p>‘No, it’s not. But it can be, if I wish it.’ In their quiet war of words, Sansa delivered her next volley with a look of daggers.  </p><p>‘You do not wish to make an enemy out of me.’  </p><p>‘No, I don’t. I never have.’ A small smile crept up on her lips. ‘But do not underestimate me; I have done what all the men failed to do. Where my brother and father fell, I stood. I killed Joffrey Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton and without me you’d never had that precious blade you carry.’  </p><p>The Dragonqueen’s eyes flicked to Lightbringer strapped to her waist. She looked back up. </p><p>‘Dragons do not care what you’ve done or who you are, they consume all they wish.’ Daenerys stood, her expression still giving nothing away.  </p><p>‘But they are not immortal. All men must die, dragons too. If you are not too careful, Cersei Lannister will help you remember that.’ Sansa remained in her seat. </p><p>‘And you? What will you do?’ The Dragonqueen reached the tent flaps.  </p><p><em> In truth? Die at the hands of Cersei Lannister, for your bloody sake. ‘ </em>I’ll do what is best for my people, nothing more, nothing less’  </p><p>Daenerys hummed a response and took one lingering look over her fellow Queen. Her violet, penetrating eyes burned with an invisible fire that had taken root within her ever since Winterfell was saved. Sansa knew she was taking Jon’s death hardly but she couldn’t sympathise with her for risking her Kingdom in her anger. With an unsettled look, the Queen swept around and vanished outside into the camp, leaving Sansa alone in her seat in deep contemplation.  </p><p>The only upside she could fathom out of the whole conversation was the new understanding that Daenerys Targaryen could not be trusted. <em> No, not a new understanding.  </em>She hadn’t trusted her since the day word reached them that she’d landed in Dragonstone. She was an unknown and a contender to the throne. Sansa couldn’t trust her back then until she knew what kind person she was and what kind of ruler she would be. Then Jon’s approval of his new Queen had set her on a high pedestal that even Sansa could admit she’d accepted. She couldn’t help but marvel at their small moments of happiness they shared when they thought no one was looking. Her sweet smiles and his squeezes of her hands convinced all that everything was just fine. Now that all of that was gone, reality had crashed down upon them and had been particularly dazing. Sansa wanted, desperately, to trust Daenerys as much as Tyrion did. She wanted to see her in the glorious light he did and hear the grace in her words. But she didn’t. The dragons and her poignant arrival in Westeros made the Dragonqueen unique but she wasn’t all that different to those who had come before, she just hadn’t seen it yet.  </p><p>Sansa sighed deeply and reached for the cloak she had discarded earlier. The confrontation had left a bitter chill in the air and a sour taste on her tongue. She washed it as best as she could away with the dregs of her wine and stood. There were still many things to do and prepare, she couldn’t spend all her days debating with herself whether she had made the best decision in travelling South with Daenerys. <em> In fact, now there’s even more I have to do and prepare- just in case.  </em>She straightened out her skirts, fastened her cloak around her neck and started towards the command tent.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Sansa Stark cannot be trusted.’ Daenerys stood by a great oak whose leaves glistened with a thin layer of crystal-like frost. After leaving the Northern Queen’s tent she’d marched towards the mess tent where she’d found those she trusted and brought them hastily away from the camp and away from listening ears. When they reached their destination, Daenerys felt her stomach drop to see those around her. Her entourage had grown so slim that it consisted solely of Missandei, Greyworm, Tyrion and Lord Varys. She was reluctant to bring the last two along and have them be privy to her concerns- with Tyrion being fond of his Stark wife and the Eunuch with his fingers in so many pies, but she still valued their advice and had learned before the dangers of keeping her thoughts from the two of them.  </p><p>‘What has happened?’ Missandei was the first to speak after her words drove them to silence.  </p><p>‘She’s made it very clear that she will not cooperate with us.’ Daenerys answered. </p><p>‘That can’t be right.’ Tyrion objected with a small, hestitant smile, ‘has she not been more than willing before? She’s been more than accommodating.’  </p><p><em> Of course, you would say that, you worship the ground she walks on. I shouldn’t have brought him here- he is oblivious to her truth self.  </em> </p><p>‘It seems she’s changed her mind. The wolf refuses to admit the North is mine by rights and continues to pursue her claim which is, anyone can see, non-existent.’  </p><p>‘From a Northern perspective, her claim is very real.’ The perfumed Eunuch offered. ‘It must be troubling that she has been given her crown by her people but I was under the impression you had accepted this, for the good of all.’  </p><p>‘You thought wrong. I did not challenge her for the sake of the North we were both trying to protect. Now that threat is gone, it is time for her to cede her crown.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Tyrion - perhaps you can speak with her, make her see sense. I know she values your wisdom highly.’ </p><p>‘Sansa would laugh me from the room. I’m not sure-’ </p><p>‘As my hand it is your duty to do as I ask and do all you must to protect all of my Kingdoms. That includes the North.’ She bore down on him. She knew he was an inadmissible member of her council but his divided loyalties were beginning to cause difficulties. ‘Will that be a problem?’ </p><p>‘She won’t give in.’ He bit back.  </p><p>‘We have to try. Remind her of her position. Remind her of the contented lives wives of hands can have.’ She turned away from him but not soon enough to miss the shake of his head. She bit her tongue and said nothing but that didn’t stop it from adding to the seething burning inside. When it was clear she had nothing more to say to him, Tyrion Lannister stalked off back towards the camp, Varys followed in quick pursuit.  </p><p>‘Greyworm?’ She addressed the leader of the Unsullied who took one side of her. ‘See to it that your men are made weary of the Northerners. We cannot have them being overwhelmed due to false trust.’  </p><p>‘As you say, I will speak to them.’  </p><p>She nodded, glad to have someone agree with her, and turned to face her most trusted companion. Missandei was looking forward as they walked, her expression unchanging and her eyes misted over in thought. Daenerys slipped their arms together. She could near read the girl’s thoughts from the look of doubt on her features. She knew Missandei had spoken often with the Northern leaders and had voiced her fondness of them on several occasions. Her news had been deeply unsettling to her.  </p><p>‘I will not let Sansa Stark fool us.’ Daenerys muttered between them. ‘She wishes to seize power from us but we won’t allow it. We have dragons, what does she have against that?’  </p><p>In another time, she would have thought of the words shared between them when Daenerys freed the slave girl from her master. ‘All men must die,’ she said, repeating the words of the ancient greeting of Essos. ‘But we are not men.’ Sansa Stark was not a man either, and neither was Cersei Lannister. Before, men had been easy to defeat- she could see their weaknesses like a dragon finds its prey; women were different somehow too similar to her to make sense of. <em> Still, all of our weaknesses are the same in the end. A knife to the heart or the force of  </em> <em> Dragonsbreath </em> <em>  are felt the same by us all. I do not need to understand them or outthink them to claim victory. Sansa was right, I am not immortal and neither are they. Flesh is nothing. Lions and wolves have only fur to cover their hides but dragons have thick scales to deflect any arrow or sword that would see them harmed.  </em> </p><p>In her heart, which she had not completely shut away, she told herself to trust Sansa. The Queen in the North never showed any intention to do harm and had always been honest and accommodating, just as Tyrion had reminded her. The burned wolf had learnt the truth of war and spoke often of the peace she was searching for. Jon had told her often of his sisters. Arya, the wild and boyish, and Sansa, the poised, perfect Lady. Even with a dagger at her hip, she remained the image of elegance and grace – <em> she is hardly a war-lord or an Empire-builder Why should I fear her?  </em>Yet, it was the other half of her heart that swayed her mind.  </p><p><em> Sansa Stark could never trust me. She says she doesn’t hate me but I can see through her lies. No one could stand beside the woman who killed their brother and put their whole faith in them as Queen.  </em>Sansa Stark was due to turn against her as soon as her usefulness lapsed. This was different to her and Viserys. Her Drogo had seen him killed when he threatened them all, lost in his madness for power, but she’d never thought of betraying him. Viserys was a cruel man who would be a tyrant- his death was well-deserved. Jon was nothing like that. Sansa’s brother was good-natured, strong but kind and Daenerys had taken all of that away.  </p><p>The two sides of her heart wrestled every day for dominance. Sometimes her fondness for the Northern girl returned. She listened intently to her and convinced herself she was no threat. Other times, she burned within at the very sight of her.<em>  She’ll turn any moment; I’ll wake up one morning and find my throat slit by that assassin sister of hers.  </em> </p><p>She’d hoped, desperately, that speaking with her would heal the unspoken wound they shared but the cut was infected and continued to fester. She’d hoped it would at least settle the conflict in her heart and, in some ways, it did. Sansa Stark wouldn’t bend the knee, that was a given, but she also wouldn’t admit her own weakness. She thought she could stand against Dragons and her legions of Unsullied. She thought herself strong enough to face her on equal ground. Such vain hope was worrying and, this time, the feeling wouldn’t go away. The troubled side of her got its way.  </p><p><em> If that is the path Sansa Stark wishes to take, by fire and blood she will live to regret it.  </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>Ah Sansa, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ Tyrion found her around a camp-fire, picking at a leg of goat. Others surrounded her, Ser Brienne and Lady Margaery, but they ate in solemn silence.  </p><p>‘Hmm?’ She looked up to see him. By her eyes he could tell she was troubled by something. It didn’t take him long to guess it had something to do with the meeting she’d had with Daenerys earlier that evening. ‘No, you’re not. I’m not hungry anyway.’ She tossed the remaining bone into the fire and stood. Without a word he followed.  </p><p>‘Are you alright?’ He asked from behind; she was walking immeasurably fast. She usually took his shorter gait into consideration and slowed herself down.  </p><p>‘Just anxious to get to King’s Landing.’ She lied poorly. <em> What did Daenerys say to you? </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>You’re telling me you can’t wait to finally kill the woman who’s been plaguing you most of your life?’ He smirked; she didn’t seem amused.  </p><p>‘All I want is to see the realm safe and return home.’  </p><p><em> See the realm safe? That was strange choice of words.  </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> Well, when Daenerys gets on the throne, the realm  <em> will  </em>be safe. If we’re quick, you’ll be on your way North in a matter of weeks.’  </p><p>‘Do you actually believe that?’ She stopped mid-step. They’d found themselves in an area where the tents were already filled. Despite their usual drinking habits, most of the Northmen, after enduring enough early mornings, had learnt the value of a long night of sleep. He was glad for the peace. ‘We are vastly outnumbered by Cersei’s men for a starter and the invaders are always at a disadvantage from the start. If the Gods <em> do  </em>decide to perform a miracle for us, can anyone be certain that will mean peace? Will all houses just suddenly abandon their lifelong loyalties in support of Daenerys? I promised myself I wouldn’t return home until the people were truly safe here but I’m beginning to think I’ll never leave King’s Landing.’  </p><p>‘Sansa-’ He reached forward for her hand but she pulled away.  </p><p>‘She sent you here, didn’t she? I upset her by saying I wouldn’t bend the knee to her so she sends her Hand to sweeten me up. Did she think I’d change my mind so easily? Do you?’ She began walking again, in no particular direction.  </p><p>‘Of course I don’t.’ He huffed as he struggled once more to catch up. ‘She did send me here to convince you but I wasn’t actually planning to try. Do I look like I want Brienne to throw me in a ditch?’  </p><p>‘Then why are you here?’ Her hands clasped together in front of her.  </p><p>‘To do my job. To make sure no one makes a stupid decision.’  </p><p>She laughed dryly. ‘Yes, I forgot how wise you were, Lord Hand. Please, tell me how to be a Queen.’  </p><p>‘That is not what I meant.’ He said in exasperation.  </p><p>‘But it is what you said.’ They’d reached her tent, she turned to face him. ‘I know you mean well, but you’re the Hand of the woman who just made threats against my life. Subtle, but I knew what she meant. I can’t - I can’t at the moment.’  </p><p>‘What will you do?’ She went to reply but he soon realised his mistake. <em> She can’t tell me because she fears I’ll repeat her words to Dany. </em> ‘I mean, do you have a plan?’  </p><p>‘I do.’ She replied surely. <em> I believe you.  </em> </p><p>Before she disappeared beneath the folds of the tent, he took her hand and, in a deft movement, slipped her thick woollen gloves from it. She looked down on him in questioning silence and he answered her by bringing her hand to his lips and turning it over to press them onto the pale skin of her palm. He lingered there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her flesh completely at his mercy. She shivered in his grip. After several more moments that, in his mind, he stretched out into hours, he pulled away and returned her glove to her. They said not a word but she slipped away inside and he left to return to his tent.  </p><p><em> Don’t do anything rash.  </em> He wanted to beg her but he knew his pleas would fall on deaf ears. Sansa was her father’s daughter, though she didn’t appear to be at first, and stubborn resilience against all odds was in her blood.  <em> She won’t listen to me – the least I can do is make sure the person she does listen to will do what’s right.  </em> </p><p>He changed his course and nearly clashed with a group of marching Unsullied as he headed back in the direction he had come from. The tent next to Sansa’s was occupied by Lady Margaery but the one after that was his true destination. He stood before the guards outside and begged leave to enter. After a silent conversation between the two of them, they nodded and held back the material so he could pass through. Two figures looked up to greet him. </p><p>‘Lord Tyrion?’ The first questioned, standing and moving his hand towards a knife sitting on a table.  </p><p>‘Please-’ He raised his hands in submission and took a step forward. The second was sitting on a bed, sorting through a large knapsack on her lap. He advanced towards her while she searched his face with stormy grey eyes.  </p><p>‘Gendry, give us a moment.’ She called out to the Baratheon bastard that shared her bed. He left as he was bid, snatching up the knife as he went. When he was gone, she turned her attention back to the dwarf in her tent. ‘Yes?’  </p><p>‘Arya,’ he began. Whilst the she-wolf before him was technically a Lady and, even more importantly, a princess, she hated the titles so he kept away from them. ‘I have a favour to ask.’  </p><p>‘Go on.’  </p><p> </p><p>Four days later, the combined army of the North and the Unsullied made their final camp outside the walls of King Landing. They were close enough for their march to be short but not too close to invite attention from the great mechanical crossbows sitting at intervals along the city walls. Their scouts had gone ahead and reported the state of the city under siege, including the elaborate defences installed, presumably against incoming dragons. They also reported the location of the Golden Company’s camp just outside the main gates with the expected 10,000 men. Fortunately, none of the scouts could see any evidence that their elephants had been brought across the waters - that at least was one less burden on their shoulders.  </p><p>‘We still have time.’ Sansa began reminding everyone who came to her with their concerns. The Golden Company’s presence was now known to all and, as expected, a wave of panic had spread through the men. To avoid desertions, Sansa ensured no one forgot the deal made with Myrcella before Jaime left the city. Sansa wished they could storm the city the morning after they arrived, it would’ve avoided the high tension and sickening waiting. But she had to give the youngest Lannister the chance to save her people. They would wait an extra day before launching their attack, even if it meant wasting valuable time and allowing their enemy to prepare.  </p><p>On the first night, she found herself sleeping in Arya and Gendry’s tent, after they’d fallen into deep discussion throughout the evening. After learning of Daenerys’ threatening intentions, she’d been forced to plan around the Dragonqueen and her sister had gleefully offered herself up to help. Yet, it seemed hopeless. Sansa wanted, needed, to ensure her men could take the remaining Unsullied forces if Daenerys turned on them. Numbers weren’t a concern for her. Assuming that both forces would fare equally against the Southerners, her own Northmen unnumbered the Unsullied. It was the thought of the dragons that plagued her. She couldn’t, however much she tried, account for them in her plans.  </p><p>This was all assuming that they’d survive against Cersei’s forces at all. The Golden Cloaks weren’t turncloaks and the Lioness wasn’t against surprises either. Sansa couldn’t help but run through all the possibilities of the barriers Cersei could produce to their advancement through the city. <em> Wildfire.  </em>She couldn’t forget the vast stores of the green flames beneath the city. In destroying the sept, Cersei had proven she was willing to endanger her own people and destroy the city for her own sake. One load of wildfire jars and the whole army might be wiped out along with half the city and many of its inhabitants. She wouldn’t let that happen.  </p><p>That was why Tyrion had convinced Daenerys only to fly around the edge of the city where their defences would be placed. The armies were sure to face more resistance further in but dragonfire was too much of risk. Even Daenerys had accepted the limitation and agreed.  </p><p>‘I don’t intend to be Queen of the ashes.’ She’d declared. That had filled Sansa with some hope. The Dragonqueen desired peace just as she did so maybe she’d see sense and accept the North as it was.  </p><p>Sansa spent her time trying her best not to think of the warnings Daenerys had left her with; there was much to be focusing on and she accepted any task that could distract her from the rift that had opened wide between the two Queens. Instead, other warnings plagued her mind- the words of the supposed-seer Helaria swam through her thoughts whenever she got a moment to herself.  </p><p>‘My daughter will be the death of you.’ Lord Tyrion’s words were often present as well. They tangled together in a stew of dread that lay a thick covering over everything she did. <em> What is the point of worrying about what Daenerys would do after the war if I’m due to die during it?  </em> Of course, she knew the answer was the North. Even if her death had been predicted (several times), it would not be the end of her.  <em> I freed the North but I’ll be damned if it falls back into servitude when the Gods claim me.  </em> </p><p>Everything and nothing mattered. She’d heard men say to make the most of each day when death crept closer but that wasn’t an option. Her days were full and her nights tumultuous. She had no time to travel as she wished, to see the beauty of the Eeyrie or to bath in the springs of Riverrun.  </p><p>Sansa was standing with Sers Jaime and Brienne, hunched over yet another map of the city- this one outlining best route through the maze of streets within, when a runner fell into the command tent and shouted for their attention. By his flushed face and stammer, all three stood upright to attention and demanded his story. Once it was told, Sansa took off outside in the direction the young runner pointed. She didn’t bother to unsheathe her dagger, the news was nothing to fear.  </p><p>At the edge of the camp, speaking with a knight in deep blue and grey steel, a man had his back to Sansa. She could make out a wash of auburn hair on his head, matching her own, and a light blue cape lightly catching in the slight wind.  </p><p>‘Uncle!’ She called out, sounding like a child once again. At the call, the figure turned, revealing himself to be Edmure Tully, just in time to embrace his approaching niece.  </p><p>‘Sansa.’ He smiled his sideways grin when they separated, looking her over. It had been many years since the two of them had seen each-other. Sansa had grown tall and womanly since he had journeyed to Winterfell to greet his new nephew, Rickon, and Edmure had greyed partially in the meantime. He also bore signs of his imprisonment and torture that Sansa couldn’t help but notice. His cheeks were unusually hollow and his skin richly tanned from his time on the gallows in the hand of the Freys. He also stood at an angle, resting on an elegant cane engraved with a fish head at the top of the grip.  </p><p>‘How are you?’ She asked urgently, still inspecting her mother’s brother with keen eyes.  </p><p>‘Better.’ He said, understanding that her words really meant – ‘<em> how are you faring since the Frey’s released you.’  </em> </p><p>This was precisely what she had dreamt of. She’d envisioned her Uncle riding to her defence as soon as she heard Riverrun was returned to him but, when he didn’t arrive, she’d lost faith. Now to see him there, men at his back and a strong horse beside him, a dash of hope returned.  </p><p>‘And you?’ He continued. ‘How is the Queen in the North?’  </p><p><em> Each day brings me closer to death and we are currently heavily outnumbered in all respects. Our only hope lies in the dragons of a woman who may or may not seek to take my crown from my head. </em> </p><p><em> ‘ </em>As well as one would expect.’ She took his arm and walked him back towards the camp, Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne had caught up. Both recognised the Lord of the Riverlands well. ‘I’m glad to see you here, our situation was looking quite dire.’  </p><p>‘The Golden Company.’ He spoke grimly, ‘I’ve heard.’  </p><p>She remained silent. There was no need to dwell on the huge threat of the Golden Company that already sat heavily upon all of their shoulders. Instead she drew him towards the command tent, intent on finding Arya and introducing him to others.  </p><p>‘Queen Sansa.’ A voice cut through the camp. Amongst her escort of Unsullied, Daenerys Targaryen emerged. ‘Lord Tully, I heard of your arrival.’  </p><p>‘Your Grace.’ Edmure separated from his niece and took a step towards Daenerys, bowing low. Sansa had to quickly remind herself that Daenerys was his true Queen, not herself. ‘It is an honour to meet you. I have brought the men of the Riverlands to fight for you. We are no friends of the Lannisters.’  </p><p>Daenerys offered a small smile in return, pleased but retaining her aura of serenity. ‘How many men?’ She ventured, simply.  </p><p>‘1,000.’  </p><p>‘Oh.’  </p><p>Sansa felt her heart drop and she saw the same reaction on the Dragonqueen’s face, however hard she tried to hide her disappointment. At that number, Sansa’s moment of hope fell away on the wind.  </p><p>Edmure looked towards them both in clear discomfort. ‘I wished to bring more but our lands have been struck by these wars. Few were still able to fight and fewer still were willing. Many marched with Robb Stark and more so were killed protecting Riverrun.’  </p><p>Daenerys said nothing.  </p><p>‘It is okay Uncle.’ Sansa spoke reluctantly. In truth part of her despised him for only rallying 1000 men. <em> He’s Lord Paramount of the  </em> <em> Riverlands </em> <em>  but he could only pull together a pitiful group of men- barely an army- to join us?  </em>But she couldn’t say that to him. She wanted to blame it on his poor treatment at the hands of the Freys but, then again, she could hardly forget the many insults her mother had directed at her brother.  </p><p>‘He’s weak willed – milk-blooded!’ Catelyn Stark had declared once after receiving a letter from him. Sansa had never known what he had done to cause such outrage but he’d been her milk-blooded Uncle ever since. </p><p>‘At times like this, we need every man. Thank you, my Lord.’ Daenerys at last replied in a measured tone. Without anything more to say, she rejoined her guard and slipped into the many bodies of the camp. Sansa retook his arm and led him away.  </p><p>‘She seems-’  </p><p>‘On edge?’ Sansa finished for him. ‘We all are. If Myrcella yields before dawn, every man will be saved. Each minute is a minute that it didn’t happen.’ She shrugged. ‘I had hope that she’d be able to do it but I have to remember that Cersei is in there too, naming herself Queen and dictating their defences.’ They’d reached the command tent, she held open the flap to let him through.  </p><p>‘We march tomorrow, then?’ He looked over the collage of maps on the table in front of them. Jaime and Brienne who’d been following behind resumed their position looking over them. </p><p>‘Aye.’ Jaime replied, a wickedness in his eyes. ‘To our deaths.’  </p><p> </p><p>The bells didn’t ring. Myrcella failed. The city wasn’t yielded.  </p><p>Sansa sat herself in her tent that night and waited. She’d spoken for some time with various commanders and Lords until the hours grew small and she withdrew to her own rooms. She chose not to undress that night, nor did she seek refuge under her furs. <em> Somebody is coming for me. </em>   Helaria  of the East had told her she’d enter the city in the arms of a betrayer. If the army was due to march in the morn, time was running out for her captor to show their face. She knew what was coming so she dressed herself in her thickest cloak and a fine gown, twisted her hair into an intricate but practical braid, and left her blade on her bed.  <em> They would never let me take it with me, there’s no point in causing a fuss.  </em> </p><p>As she waited, which she hated with a hot passion, she ran through who would show themselves to her that night. Some were easy to rule out. Why would Ser Brienne serve Cersei instead of her? Others were more likely. Jaime kept coming to her, his face darkened, his green eyes cold and cruel like his twin’s. She knew there was never a way to be certain of his loyalties, always the chance that he was biding his time and still as dedicated to his sister as he’d once been. She hoped, for Brienne’s sake, that he wasn’t. She prayed that he had truly abandoned Cersei but the seed of doubt had grown and couldn’t be cut away.  </p><p>The night grew on and she started to believe no one was coming for her. Prophecies were tricky things and were rarely so direct. Vague words were the downfall of many, as history had proven again and again. To enter the city in a betrayer’s arms- that could mean many things beside the literal assumption Sansa had taken. She expected to be swung across someone’s shoulder and forced into King’s Landing or be knocked across the head and smuggled in through a back-entrance. She hadn’t considered that things may not be so simple. She hated prophecies almost as much as the city they drew her towards. </p><p><em> My head hurts.  </em> </p><p>Her stomach twisted in knots while she sat and she could hardly remain still. Her hands clasped and relaxed in her lap, her leg bounced up and down and she kept searching the room, finding new things to feign interest in while her brain span around with yet more theories and ideas about what was truly about to happen. None of her family members chose to appear to her that night, she wasn’t surprised. <em> All have been betrayed but none expected it. None saw it coming and chose to wait it out.  </em>She was alone in this but she was used to that, at the very least.   </p><p>‘What?’  </p><p>If she was true wolf, her ears would’ve twitched at the sound. A hushed breath and a single questioning word hung in the air. It was quiet but she knew they were close by. She presumed they were concerned by the lack of guards at her tent. She didn’t see why they’d be necessary if she was doomed to be taken anyway and didn’t want to risk anymore lives. She held her breath and listened for more.  </p><p>A footstep.  </p><p>Light on the ground but nearby and swiftly followed by another. She felt her hand begin to tremble violently. She closed it into a fist, digging her nails into the palm of her hand.  </p><p>The opening of the tent ruffled.  </p><p>She held her breath.  </p><p>Moonlight streamed in.  </p><p>She was struck to her seat.  </p><p>‘Sansa.’ The gruff voice was shortly followed by a figure, ushering itself in from the darkness. His face was lit by the warm oranges and yellows of the candles. Sansa swallowed hard and held her stare.  </p><p>‘Bronn.’  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Betrayed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘Bronn.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stood in the door of her tent, moonlight streaming in from behind him, warm candlelight on his face. For the first time, he wasn’t in his usual black grab but dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered in gold thread with a perfect lion. A gift, she had no doubt, from Cersei Lannister. She was certain such dress would allow him easy passage through the city. He wore no armour but his sword belt was laden with weapons- swords and dirks of all sizes. She took a quick, mourning look towards her knife, abandoned on the furs of her bed. She thanked it silently for its service, even if that had included killing an innocent woman and stabbing herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>grizzled</span>
  
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> took a step inside, a dark eyebrow raised in a look of confusion. Evidently, her captor had not expected to find her unguarded and waiting for his arrival. She stood, brushed down her cloak and skirts and offered him her arm.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’re you doing?’ He hissed as he took hold of her wrist in a brown leathered hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going willingly.’ She looked ahead, not towards him. When his fingers closed around her, she felt the sudden jolt of betrayal that told it her it was very real. Bronn of the Blackwater was the one </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> had </span>
  <span>forseen</span>
  <span> taking her to King’s Landing- </span>
  <em>
    <span>does that mean everything else must come true? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d trusted Bronn in the same way everyone had: reluctant at first but, when he proved himself, happy to accept him amongst her own. She’d known him in King’s Landing when he was still with Tyrion and had found his company enjoyable, if sometimes far </span>
  <span>more bawdy</span>
  <span> that the sweet ladies she was used to. She’d asked him to help her rescue Tyrion and he’d done that, loyal to the end. She’d heard much later from Jaime Lannister that the </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> was never intending to kill her, when the pair of them were sent to her camp, and was willing to turn on Jaime if that’s what it took. Then of course Bronn had remained by the Lion’s side back to Dorne then North again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now she questioned everything she knew about the man. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whatever.’ He shrugged, giving her a tug as they began outside. The air had turned since she’d last been out and she thanked herself for the thick cloak smothering most of her. The bitter wind still cut sharply into her exposed cheeks and played with her stray hairs. Snow was yet to fall heavily enough to settle in the South but its chill still sat in the air, filling her lungs with cold as she took a deep breath in. He pulled her along, away from the rest of the camp, his blunt dingers digging sharply into her arm. She made no effort to resist him – </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is how I get into the city, I must accept it. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped just short of the edge of camp where many of the horses were pacing the ground, covered in thick blankets. Bronn stepped forward, swung one off and patted a great courser on its thick hind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Took your time.’ He called out into the darkness. His head had swivelled back at a noise behind them and she craned to see herself. At last, he gave her enough room to turn round where two figures were approaching, shrouded in black. ‘Big lass </span>
  <span>weren’t</span>
  <span> with </span>
  <span>him,</span>
  <span> was she?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ A voice responded lowly. When they came into view, Sansa could see the one who had spoken was tugging the other along by a small loop of rope around their hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hand. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She could just make out the line of one of the sleeves which fell away into nothing. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jaime-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was brought fully into her view moments later, head bowed, still trying to wrestle himself free from his captor. The other didn’t let up, standing perfectly still yet holding complete control over the knight. Sansa wondered who could possess such </span>
  <span>strength.</span>
  <span> When he stepped into the light, she guessed him to be a man by his deep voice, she was even more struck by confusion. She couldn’t put a name to the face at all. He was dressed in Stark grey with a white </span>
  <span>direwolf</span>
  <span> embellished on his shoulder but there were many who wore the exact same so that couldn’t help her. His face was ordinary, deep black hair and a shadow of a beard across slightly over-round cheeks. His nose bore the slight redness of a man who drank too heavily but his eyes showed him to be one of distinction and strength. Bronn and the stranger engaged in light conversation while she was moved towards the horse but she wasn’t listening, her eyes were fixed on the newcomer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That face is familiar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t remember why she knew him or what </span>
  <span>cause</span>
  <span> she’d have to recall one bannerman in hundreds but there was something in his build and the way his jaw sat that hinted at a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa.’ A hushed whisper broke her concentration. She looked to her side, finding herself seated on a horse in front of Bronn, where Jaime Lannister sat at his own. ‘Are you alright?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fine.’ She smiled in reassurance. Kidnapping stories in the old tales she’d read were always much more exciting than this. They involved intricately woven plot, a great deal of violence and some wild twist. Nobody had ever been so willingly taken to the woman who would see them flayed and beheaded in a second. Sansa shook that thought from her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not dead yet. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The horses ambled through the camp and no one stopped their passage at the entrance when they passed through. Once they were out of sight, Bronn and the stranger took hold of the reins and raced through the empty fields. They met the </span>
  <span>Kingsroad</span>
  <span> and rode straight down it, no fear of who may see them and who wouldn’t wish them to reach the city. Sansa looked forlornly upon the empty land. When she’d first reached King’s Landing, the space had been filled with travelling merchants and entertainers who couldn’t get through the gates. There’d be stalls and tents as far as one could see. Now she could see tents but the Golden Company were no mummers or jewellers. Their mounts hammered the packed dirt up the road until the tall walls of the city came into view and they were slowed down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A guard moved forward to stop their passage, taking a suspicious glance over their strange cargo. Bronn spoke down from behind her and the guard coughed loudly and apologised for his ignorance. The gates were wrenched open and the city revealed itself to them in its foul glory. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They passed through its streets, wide at first where the larger houses and finer shops could be found, then to the thin and still stinking areas where the poor and weak alike came to share their burdens. Sansa was certain the buildings felt more cramped together and the smell was even more overpowering then when she’d last passed through. Eyes peeked from shop-fronts and hovels alike as the horse-shoes tapped out their gentle beat on the cobblestones. She heard whispers and rumours spreading from one street to the other. She caught her name on the wind several times and also ‘Cersei’, ‘treason’ and ‘execution.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>How thrilling. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Around them, dawn was forcing the darkness away as the sun began to fight for its place in the heavens. </span>
  <span>Its</span>
  <span> warm orange light was a welcome relief from the blackness but it only served as a reminder of what was to come. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The men will be awake by now. They’ll be preparing to march. They’ll find us missing but will march anyway. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She breathed a shaky breath and prayed to any God that might be listening that their plans would run smoothly. In her mind, every possibility had been explored and every flaw located and fixed yet no plan was perfect. For starters, she had planned for herself to be able to watch from the </span>
  <span>side-lines</span>
  <span> and offer advice in case of the unexpected but now she knew there was no chance. The men would be fighting without her today and without her brother to lead them either. She only hoped Arya would be enough to keep the Northern fire alive. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is Arya Stark, of course she will be. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A rough hand came from behind her and turned her head forwards. She wanted to aim her elbow backwards and let it meet with his stomach but she held herself back and forced it all down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The streets themselves were unusually quiet. Where once many would flock each day to the various markets and open shops, not a soul stirred beyond their positions behind windows. The air of a battle about to begin was definitely in the air. Sansa could taste the blood already on her tongue and the people of King’s Landing had done the same. Flea’s Bottom was the strangest to her. The streets were wide and open without the throng of eager shoppers and </span>
  <span>beggars</span>
  <span>. Now, no stalls had been set up along walls and the calls of ardent traders went unheard. Sansa found herself missing the city- the same city who’s walls she’d been trapped behind for much of her young life. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They passed swiftly through the city and began the ascent up the hill that the Red Keep sat ever-proudly on. Sansa looked up and squinted at the great towers extending above them. She wondered if Cersei was looking down on her, wine in hand, a vicious smile on her perfect face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the keep, Bronn jumped deftly from the mount and arms seized her from both sides, lifting her awkwardly from its back and setting her down, still in their unwavering grips. Lannister men tried the same with Jaime but he shoved them off heavily and not even the stranger who captured him dared to stop him. Jaime dismounted himself and let himself be led inside. Sansa strained to turn around before the iron doors were shut behind her. She caught a glimpse of the sky-line of the city- it's winding streets and the harbour still in the near-distance. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The arms around her tugged at her and she stumbled forward, her eyes still fixed to the city. They were inside the door now and another guard was moving to close it while she was continually forced inwards. She squinted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door shut and the light beyond was stripped away. But, in the half-</span>
  <span>second</span>
  <span> she had before it closed, she caught sight of something familiar. The flash of a dark, leathery wing against the brightening sky. She’d seen in before, so many years ago that the memory had near escaped her, but it came back in a sudden rush. She’d seen the dragon above the city before she even knew Daenerys’ had been born into the world. She had never considered in seriously but now it appeared as clear as day. She breathed out a held breath and let herself be turned away along the stone corridors to her demise. She couldn’t be certain that they would take the city, the odds were definitely not in their favour, yet now she could at least take with her that the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> would be laying waste to their defences with every step she took. Every breath was another Golden Company solider taken down. Every second was a second closer to someone’s victory. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei Lannister stood in her chambers, overlooking the city. Her attention was fixed solely to the beast that had taken in the air. From his gaping mouth, it blew fire across the walls of the city. She watched her scorpions burst into flame, one by one, but her smile never faltered. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All it takes is one to take that dragon-bitch down.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sipped careful at her goblet. She cursed herself once more for not being born a man. If it weren’t for what was between her legs, she knew she would be down in the streets with her men, leading them as a ruler should do. Instead her woman’s body imprisoned her in the keep where she would have to watch from a distance and rely on guesswork and what limited view she had. The Golden Company would be fighting beyond the city walls, and, as the gates were yet to be breached, she could suppose they were doing a good job. Yet there was no way for her to be certain. The gate could crash down at any minute and fiery hell could fall on all of them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a second dragon, a larger one that she only caught brief glimpses of. The elusive creature swept down from the clouds to send gusts of heat beyond the city walls and then would fly nose-first back where it had descended from. She was no expert of dragons and this was the first time she’d ever seen one, but she was convinced the larger beast was injured. Its fire breath was strong enough but the few times she’d seen it fly, it never seemed to move in a straight direction and one wing moved differently to the other. She wanted to shout down to her men to target that one but there was no use. It continued to spew its flames on her men and they remained oblivious to its obvious weakness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should be down there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cersei told herself again. It was a soothing thought, herself down on the battlefield. She’d sometimes dress in her brother’s plate and mail before her frame disallowed her. That fantasy was deemed to remain just so but she let it play out in her imagination anyway. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The quiet voice of Qyburn called out behind her. The unofficial Hand of the Queen was stood at the door in his usual black robes. The strange man was meant for the Citadel but was cast out for his experiments. He’d saved Jaime’s hand and she found his flexible morals alluring. Now his thin, pale features were painted in a look of restrained excitement. She turned her attention away from the window and cast her eyes over him in judgement. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes?’ She spoke with a sigh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ser Bronn of the Blackwater begs an audience – he was brought what you requested.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her face lit up. She’d almost lost hope in the </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span>-knight but the news brought a true smile to her face. She’d made arrangements with Bronn before he left with Jaime. She made her poor twin sure that she wanted him to take the </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span>, that she was desperate to be rid of him. In fact, Ser Bronn was as important as they could be. Bronn was the sort of man </span>
  <span>whose</span>
  <span> loyalty seemed true but could be bought with a few </span>
  <span>septims</span>
  <span> from the right buyer. A few words in the right ears and a weighty bag of coins and the deal was settled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Excellent.’ She set her cup down and clapped her hands together. ‘Bring them in.’ Qyburn nodded, bowed and swept from the room. She quickly returned to her spot by the window, finding the dragon still attacking the walls which, in turn, remained </span>
  <span>unbreeched</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One Queen dead, or soon to be at least, and their men stuck behind the walls- the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> will learn what a fool she’s been very soon. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door behind her opened. She didn’t move. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa Stark stumbled in the room after a heavy shove pushed her inside. She was at least glad to no longer be in their grip which was sure to leave bruises – on her corpse, of course. Beside her, Jaime stood slowly upright, his eyes fixed across the room. She glanced up from the floor and found the source of his focus – the back of Cersei Lannister. The Queen-mother was gowned in a black dress that clung tightly to her figure, accented by intricate metal details at her shoulders and corseting her waist. Her golden hair, once long and flowing, or else up in styles new and exciting to Sansa, was cut short, ending at the nape of her neck. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Bronn, his heavy marching boots hard on the stone floors, found his way to a table and hoisted himself on top.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Our little dove has returned to us.’ Cersei Lannister spoke out towards the balcony. In a slow spin, she turned on her heels to face them. ‘And with my dear brother too. It’s been too long Jaime.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei.’ He greeted her bitterly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You may go, Bronn. You can have your reward when we’re done here.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> huffed out a laugh. ‘I don’t think so,’ he chuckled, ‘I’ve risked my bloody hide to get these to here- I think I’ve earned the right to see the fruits of my effort.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Lioness swiped a hand in the air and shook her head. ‘Fine, be my guest. You and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>can stay.’ She turned back to Sansa whose feet found themselves unable to lift from the floor. ‘It’s been a long time, little Stark, but I knew I’d get you in the end.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa kept her mouth shut. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How you’ve grown. When I last saw you, you were a little maiden crying because we married you off to a dwarf. Now look at you!’ She raised up her hands as if showing her to the world. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perhaps that’s what happens after one </span>
  <span>stabs</span>
  <span> their king in the stomach.’ She replied dryly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei laughed, a high and bitter laugh. She took a slow step forward, her green eyes piercing and narrowed, and reached a slender hand upwards. The fingers brushed softly against Sansa’s burnt cheek, tracing the lines of scars left behinds like a caring mother might caress their child.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A shame you’re not so pretty anymore.’ She spoke with a perfect, </span>
  <span>genuine</span>
  <span> smile. ‘Not a shame for me, of course.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why not?’ Sansa bit back the poisons she wished she could spew.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei thought for a moment before shrugging. ‘You’re going to die anyway, what’s the harm. A woods-witch told me all strange tales of my future. Some she even managed to get right. A fluke, obviously, but I was worried about something she’d said. She told me I’d be replaced by someone younger and more beautiful than me. Now at least I know that won’t be you.’ She stepped backwards and looked between them both. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get it over with.’ Sansa spat out, ‘kill us now.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen mother looked towards her and shook her head with a look of exaggerated shock which shifted quickly back into her usual smirk. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kill you? Now?’ She threw up her hands. ‘Do you want to miss the show? You’ll just have to wait.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then kill me. I’m tired of this Cersei.’ Jaime grumbled. His arms fell limply to his side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why would I kill my own dear brother?’ She stepped forward and grasped his flesh hand, covering it in her own. ‘You betrayed me for this Northern bitch but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgive </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.’ Her smile appeared genuinely sweet. ‘She tricked you into submission but you’re back with me now. Things are different here. We can be together as we always should be and no one will be allowed to say a word. You and I – we can rule here together.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime pulled roughly away and looked down his nose at her. ‘You are insane.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We are one, brother. You know it as I do and you feel it as we’ve both felt it so many times. You always said you wish you didn’t have to sneak into my bedchambers at night. Now you won’t have to.’ She grasped for his hands again but he didn’t let her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was long ago, Cersei.’ He spoke lowly, a warning in his voice. ‘I was a different man than and you were different too. It was a mistake.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She raised her head to meet his eyes slowly. Sansa watched then exchange in silence, still stuck in her position. Cersei said nothing but she examined her once-lover's eyes and saw the seriousness in them. She took a slow, measured step backwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re right.’ She muttered. ‘I was a fool to think you would ever be good enough for me. Look at you-’ She clenched her teeth hard as she regarded him with a spiteful snarl. ‘Pathetic.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime Lannister gave no reply as his sister dropped her eyes and returned to Sansa. She could only hope he felt a gladness to have finally torn himself away from the grabbing hands and memories they shared. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come here child.’ Cersei held an arm out towards her and Sansa felt her feet obeying. A long arm swept around her back and she was brought to the very edge of the window, looking out upon the city below. ‘What do you see?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The foulest and most corrupted city in existence. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You see </span>
  <em>
    <span>failure</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Your men haven’t even broken down the gates yet. The fleet still sits in the harbour. What made you think you had any chance to take this city? Do you not remember Blackwater? You may think you’re some kind of saviour for these people but their Lords will still send their men to </span>
  <em>
    <span>us </span>
  </em>
  <span>– to the crown they know and respect.’ One of her hands had snaked around each arm and seized hold of her tightly, harder than any of the guards had done. She felt the sting of fingernails digging into her skin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s Myrcella?’ Sansa said through gritted teeth to disguise her pain. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Safe.’ Cersei responded lightly. ‘There’s an enemy army outside the castle walls, I couldn’t let her roam free, could I?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That had been a brief distraction yet the inevitable soon returned. Sansa’s gaze couldn’t be torn away from the city below. If it weren’t for the dragons appearing at intervals, it would almost be peaceful. There were no signs that the Northmen or the Unsullied were nearby. Cersei was right – </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cold air brushed over her and she shivered in the Lioness’ grip. Her hands were an iron vice, stronger than the actual iron crown sitting neatly on her shorn hair. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why am I here?’ It sounded so strange to say yet the words flowed from her tongue nonetheless. She had become completely accepting that someone’s knife was meant for her neck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s what the witch told me would happen, I can’t be surprised. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanted to watch the</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>hope leave your eyes. You always looked so hopeful when you stayed with us. </span>
  <span>Joff</span>
  <span> could beat you and threaten you and kill off half your family but the next day you’d show up to court with a fresh smile alongside a fresh bruise. It was sickening.’ Cersei laughed softly to herself. ‘When the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> is felled from up high- that'll be the last thing you see.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, Ser Bronn shifted on the table with a huff of impatience. Sansa launched a thousand curses in his direction. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What of Ellaria Sand?’ She remembered suddenly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> whore?’ Cersei replied with tip of her head. ‘She was supposed to bring you to me herself but she failed. Luckily, I had the sense to send Ser Bronn on the same mission.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wasn’t really listening. Her ears strained to hear the usual songs of metal and flesh that hung over any battle. The silent city was many times more unnerving than one full of noise. Cersei was saying something now about the Mountain but Sansa’s attention was somewhere else. In the corner of the window, just above the city walls, she could see something moving fast towards the gates. She caught flashes of green and gold as a piece of fabric bobbed up and down in place. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Banners-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei hadn’t noticed yet, she had drawn a sleek knife from her belt and was running its blade along her finger. She squinted but she didn’t need to. Anyone from a young age had been taught the </span>
  <span>sigils</span>
  <span> of every major House in Westeros and some from Essos too. The most recognisable ones were easy to recall and Sansa had impressed her Septa with her quick memory, struggling only when they reached the less significant holds. Gold on a green background was an easy one, she didn’t even need to think for the name to come to her mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Tyrells-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span> Tyrell had taken her aside years before when she visited Highgarden on their journey North. Young </span>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span> lead the keep and the family while his father, Lord Mace Tyrell, sat in the small council. He’d told her many of those in the Reach thought ill of their own Lord for his subservience and some would go so far as to turn against him if the chance arrived. </span>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span>, of course, could not promise those numbers or risk the outcry from those more loyal to his father so he hadn’t joined them on their way to Winterfell. Still, the implied promise hung in the air between them. Now, it seemed, with Mace long dead at the hands of Cersei Lannister, he was finally doing good on the offer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How many men fight for the Reach? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She knew its armies were the largest in Westeros beside the Royal armies. Just a small portion of their number had been enough to save the city from Stannis Baratheon’s invasion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They could outnumber the Golden Company...twice. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa couldn’t help the smile that spread over her features and she only just managed to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape her lips. Cersei Lannister was still watching the dragons in the sky, waiting to see Daenerys fall, so she had yet to see the changing tide. Sansa bottled as much of her joy down, not wanting to </span>
  <span>aggravate</span>
  <span> the woman with the knife. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The gate came down with the sound of distant splintering wood. At Winterfell, when the dead forced themselves into the keep, the noise had echoed through the halls, all the way up to Sansa’s tower where it reverberated through every bone in the room. Now the sound was so far away it was no more than a gentle thump, like someone dropped a bag of linens a few rooms away. Cersei heard, her sharp ears picked up the sound and her head snapped downwards from the skies just in time to see the wave of Northmen, Unsullied and </span>
  <span>Reachmen</span>
  <span> crashing into the city. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The men guarding the city were taken by surprise and the first lines were easily overwhelmed. The next waves of </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span> were prepared but, eventually, they too fell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Clever.’ Cersei spat out, her grip on Sansa’s arm gradually tightened until she was forced to let out a small squeal of pain. Cersei chuckled darkly at the noise. For a moment, the stinging pressure of her fingers dropped away as Sansa felt herself released but she could not revel in the freedom for long. The woman’s slender hands moved to her shoulders and pressed hard. Sansa’s legs buckled beneath her and she just managed to stumble to her knees. The top of the city was just visible from her new position but as the men advanced further inwards, they disappeared from view. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I underestimated you- I'm impressed.’ There was something in her tone that reminded Sansa of Lord Tywin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My men </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>take your city. Daenerys will come for you.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perhaps.’ Sansa heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed, she tensed. ‘But you won’t get to see it.’ In a swift movement the cool blade pressed hard against her exposed neck. Only one hand held her down by her shoulder but it was enough to root her to the spot. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only she knew how unsurprised I am. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was a small victory for her, to know that Cersei’s attempt to shock her had failed. </span>
  <span>Helaria’s</span>
  <span> words swam through her head, their mantra a sweet lullaby to her. They’d been right so far, a betrayer had taken her into the city and now she would fall, as was predicted. That had to mean the rest had to come true. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The realm will find peace and I will be Queen again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She still didn’t understand how that would be possible. With a knife pushing into her flesh, completely at the mercy of the woman who had wanted her dead for years, it was heard to see a way of her living much longer, let alone having a crown once more. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei moved the tip of the blade so it punctured her skin, a small bead of blood trickled down her throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have been the most irritating person I’ve ever met- I’ll give you that. Like a little bug fussing around food in the open. You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to squash you.’ She leant in close, her hot breath on Sansa’s ear. ‘Any last words?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa found her mind completely blank. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have nothing to say. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s expected death since White Harbour but had never truly addressed it for herself. There were a thousand things she wanted to spit towards the great lioness as she towered above but nothing came to mind. Her thoughts had dropped away. This was different to the clearing at Winterfell. As she lay bleeding against Theon, the world swaying dizzyingly, her thoughts had been wild. She fought to keep her eyes open and her keep herself awake. She prayed for their victory through gritted teeth and only let go when she was forcibly plucked away by a feint. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now, the fight had drained from her. There was a chance she could shift her body and escape Cersei’s clutches but her heart told her there was no point. She had no weapon, only Jaime for an ally, and no plan. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why should I question the words of the Gods?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t just the words of the Gods that bound her to her knees. Tywin Lannister had told her so long ago that her fate lay at the hands of his daughter. Now his prophecy was fulfilled and the blade was readied to slice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope he’s watching. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa?’ Someone was beside her, speaking clearly as if they truly were there. She couldn’t move her head for fear of accidentally slitting her own throat but she </span>
  <span>recognised</span>
  <span> the voice anyway. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Father-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Time appeared to have slowed completely. She had offered Cersei no last words but the Lioness still hadn’t sent her to her Gods. The battle outside, from the limited view she had, appeared to have stopped too. She felt Ned Stark’s presence, warmth radiated off him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ He spoke low.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She found her mouth dry and when she tried to respond, no words came. In a blink, he was kneeling before her where the window had been. Cersei was gone, the room was gone, the battle was far away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was dark- except for her father. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I-’ It was all she could manage. His deep grey eyes strained as he stared towards her as if trying to convey a message with the look. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed heavily and reached a large, calloused hand towards her. It sat comfortably on her cheek and his thumb brushed the scarred flesh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m scared.’ Her voice trembled.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. So was I.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down. She was watching his execution again in her nice new gown. She’d woken that morning excited, thrilled to see her father released from the black cells. She’d slept that night like the dead and had refused to leave her bed for a week afterwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do I do?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. ‘Whatever you can. Words are wind, remember.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded but she didn’t understand. She’d hoped his appearance meant he had an answer for her but his sad eyes told a different tale. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My advice?’ He continued. ‘Do what you’ve always done. It’s got you far enough. Perhaps think like your sister too – you've both survived because of who you are, because of this.’ He tapped her head with his middle finger gently. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Robb was smart – that didn’t help him.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was,’ Ned raised his thick brows, ‘but not in the way he needed to be. When he saw Lord Frey, he saw what he wanted to see, not what was truly there. If he had, he might be in your place today.’ Her father’s voice had turned wistful, imagining a world in which his eldest had survived. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t stop a knife with my mind,’ she spoke with a slight laugh, ‘it’s too late for that.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think, Sansa. Think like you would. Think like your sister would.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her eyes. The blackness and her father, were gone. For a few fleeting seconds, she held onto the feeling of his hand against her skin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His words stuck on her head, filling the emptiness. She wondered what he’s meant by any of what he said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How will judging someone’s character save me? The treachery has been and gone. It was as </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Helaria</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> said, I was taken by one who would betray me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would- </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t struck her as odd but now the word hung in the air, stuck out from the rest. There were a thousand ways of saying she’d be forcibly taken into the city, why had the witch chosen that one? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>- The world around her was coming back to life, she could feel the blade at her throat once more. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something’s wrong. There’s something I’m not seeing. Something doesn’t belong. Someone-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Any last words?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, actually.’ She fixed her gaze forward and prayed hard that she was right. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The man behind you died 3 weeks ago aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Young Wolf</span>
  </em>
  <span> from a sudden fever. We threw his body overboard.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, Cersei’s head spun around. Sansa was still in her grip but her words seemed so sure, she couldn’t help herself but look. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She had just enough time to release her hand to shield herself before the knife met her stomach. Words tumbling from her mouth, she blinked into focus. Standing before her, knife aimed towards her abdomen, the man that had accompanied the </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> smirked. Her mouth open in an unsaid exclamation, she turned to the man himself, still seated on a table, fiddling with the point of his dirk. His legs swung beneath him like a pleased child. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, your Grace.’ He called out in his gruff voice, ‘someone once told me if I was ever tasked with taking their life, he’d pay me double not to. I assumed the deal extended to his wife.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei spat towards him but he was too far away and too amused to care. She glanced quickly towards her brother who had taken the stranger’s place by the door, standing guard. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jaime?’ She made her voice small. Their matching green eyes met but his were clouded over, darker than she recalled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He said nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s lost to me. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She felt movement behind her and heard the crash of steel hitting the stone floor. She hadn’t even noticed she’d let go of her dagger but now it was being snatched up by the Northern bitch as she crawled away. Sansa Stark rose before her and stood beside the stranger </span>
  <span>whose</span>
  <span> hand never moved from her stomach. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sister.’ The girl muttered with a smug smile. The stranger moved their free hand to their chin and wrenched upwards. Cersei’s insides twisted as the flesh was torn straight off and </span>
  <span>discarded</span>
  <span> across the floor. She waited to hear wails of pain and see blood but beneath was another smooth face, this one vaguely recognisable. She hadn’t seen the youngest Stark daughter since she escaped King’s Landing and was presumed dead. The girl had been a nightmare to seek out; every attempt ended in failure and with each report, the chance of negotiation with their mother slipped away. Back then, all she wanted was her brother back and for her son to rule well. She still wanted her brother back – the figure who stood in his flesh was him just as much as Arya Stark had been the face she was wearing. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guards!’ Cersei scrambled to move out of the way as Sansa had but the wolf pup </span>
  <span>tightened</span>
  <span> her grip on the knife at her belly and Cersei knew not to move. She called again but no one in the room moved and outside, there was only silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where the fuck </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> they?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>No one’s coming, your Grace.’ Bronn spoke, emphasising her royal title that had withered away into meaninglessness. ‘I doubt your Mountain fella’ will be coming up here in a hurry.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked around the room in confusion. When the deal with Ellaria Sand fell to nothing, she released Ser Gregor from his cell and returned him to her personal guard. She expected him to be outside the door or near enough but, they were right, no one was coming. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where is he?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘With his brother.’ Arya Stark explained. ‘He and the Hound have unfinished business, he arrived just after us.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck the Hound, I should’ve had him killed years ago. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d been a loyal dog once, when he trotted around her son like the obedient pup he was supposed to be. She’d hoped he’d died, after he fled during the siege, yet now the not-so loyal beast returned. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She shot a look towards the Northern Queen who was shaking herself off. She couldn’t help but notice the look of surprise and slight confusion on her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She had no idea. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cersei had felt the girl shiver beneath her, felt her heart beat erratically in her throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you mean to kill me?’ She asked sweetly. ‘It is not honourable to kill a defenceless woman – but then again, that hasn’t stopped you before.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s face flushed a satisfying pink. Her bright blue eyes trailed over her, she looked to her sister and they shared </span>
  <span>an</span>
  <span> unspoken decision. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Not yet.’ Stark pressed her lips into a hard, straight line. ‘Arya?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister nodded and sheathed her knife. With a swift, far from gentle, movement, the girl still dressed as a Stark bannerman spun her round into a seat and held her there. Beneath her cloak, she pulled round a bag swung over her shoulder and began rifling through its contents. She brought out several lengths of thick rope and the two sisters began tying her down to the chair. Cersei could only roll her eyes at them as they fiddling. They all knew it was hardly necessary; </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s no point in me running now. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa stood back and admired their work. It was everything she’d ever dreamt of, to </span>
  <span>see</span>
  <span> Cersei Lannister bound to a chair. She wished to savour the moment for ever, to keep the image alive in her mind but her thoughts wouldn’t allow her. After a time of them being empty and settled, they all rushed at her at once. Her head was still reeling from the closeness she came to following her mother in death and the recent memory of that was soon combined with the thousand more things that needed to be done. The battle was still raging outside as men clashed in the streets. Their screams and clangs were so distant though, they were at the back of her mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked to the window and caught sight of the two dragons as they continued to wreck the wall’s defences. From what she could see, they’d nearly decimated every one of the great bows erected to take down the sky-beasts but Daenerys kept moving, flitting through the sky and sending </span>
  <span>dragonsbreath</span>
  <span> wherever it was needed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jaime, Bronn.’ The two of them had hardly moved but had been watching the three women closely. Jaime had been given his blade, carried in by Bronn, and was now leaning on his golden hilt. ‘find </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span>. We can’t trust that Daenerys won’t target them.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bronn pushed himself from the table and Jaime nodded. His mind seemed to be </span>
  <span>preoccupied</span>
  <span> as they waited but his expression returned to one of clarity. She supposed worry for his daughter was building in him with every passing second. She couldn’t blame him- nothing within these walls could ever be deemed safe. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After they were gone, Sansa and Arya each pulled up a chair where they could keep one eye on their captive and another beyond the balcony. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could’ve told me you had a plan.’ Sansa mumbled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister guffawed and slapped her thigh </span>
  <span>dramatically</span>
  <span>. ‘Told you? My sister: the worst liar in all of Westeros?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What? Am I wrong? It had to be convincing to get us this far. It wasn’t meant to scare you.’ Sansa could tell Arya was trying to mask her amusement. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well you definitely failed at that.’ She crossed her arms across her chest. Eventually, however, she broke and let loose a giggle. They’d done an excellent job at convincing her she was about to </span>
  <span>die,</span>
  <span> she couldn’t fault them for that. ‘Was </span>
  <span>Helaria</span>
  <span> you too?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Helaria? The witch from White Harbour? She told me I’d be taken here by a traitor and suggested I wouldn’t make it out alive.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya smile fell and her face took on a sickly pallor. ‘T-that wasn’t us. What did she say?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa waited for the joke. They sat in silence for some minutes before she realised it would never come. She told Arya the words the seer had spoken to her before they sailed South. Arya didn’t reply, mulling over the words in her head. Sansa too retreated into her own thoughts. She was, indeed, taken by someone who would </span>
  <em>
    <span>betray </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. She didn’t want to think about it, none of it made sense and her head ached with every attempt at gaining clarity. Instead she filled the time wondering where Bronn and Jaime were and wishing for them to enter at any moment. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime took to the corridors quickly, easily navigating around the halls he hadn’t walked in years but remembered so clearly. He’d visited Cersei in the royal chambers a shameful number of times and the path leading to them felt worn down by his many journeys. The keep itself was poorly defended and they were only stopped by a handful of guards who had guessed they were not supposed to be there. He supposed Cersei had sent the brute force of the Golden cloaks and City guard into the streets to defend the city, leaving herself vulnerable to attack. Then again, he doubted he’d do things much differently, what with the chance that the Northerners would defeat the </span>
  <span>sellswords</span>
  <span> being so slim. Cersei wasn’t as experienced but she was no fool either. He was almost disappointed in her for falling for Bronn and Arya’s ruse so easily. Still, he was glad it was done. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s over. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the royal chamber was unguarded – except for the two bodies of Lannister men bleeding onto the stone floor. Jaime hopped over both of them and near crashed into the room. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was perfectly serene, completely empty and unnervingly quiet. His eyes scanned quickly around for a sign of his daughter or her Dornish husband but it was as if no one had been in there at all. Of course, he knew that was wrong. King </span>
  <span>Aerys</span>
  <span>, the first King he knew, had stayed within these walls, then it had been Robert Baratheon then his two ill-fated sons. His first had been slaughtered in his bed in the chambers adjoining the room he was standing in and the other jumped from the window, directly in front of him. The royal chambers were not meant for them, not for </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> and most certainly not for him. He shook his head to Bronn and turned towards the men on the floor. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>One had clearly expired, clutching a gaping wound in his chest. The other, however, let out soft moans as he struggled to push himself up onto his arms. At the sight of the two of them he gave up and dropped to the ground. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want?’ He spat, finding two blades pointing at this throat. When he spoke, Jaime realised he wasn’t a Lannister man as he expected but a </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> from Essos. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why would Cersei employ a foreigner to defend Myrcella? Surely a loyal Lannister would do better for the Lannister Queen. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t do well to untwist the entwined machinations of his sister. There was always some reason for her actions but that wasn’t his focus at that moment. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span>?’ He growled, thrusting his blade closer to the man’s </span>
  <span>gorget</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span> laughed. ‘The inbred bitch?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ Bronn warned. ‘Your wound isn’t mortal but we can make it – unless you tell us what we want to fucking know.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His dark eyes narrowed and his mouth drew into a tight ball. ‘Fine. I can’t tell you where she is but she told the blond boy something about bells. That’s all I know.’ He spluttered, for effect and they withdrew their weapons. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bloody bells?’ Bronn frowned. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The main bell </span>
  <span>tower</span>
  <span>.’ Jaime had soon started walking again, his companion hurried to keep up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s still trying to ring out the bells like she said she would. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That would’ve been a comforting thought, to know his daughter had broken from her capture to save lives, yet the evident lack of ringing set his hand trembling. Every second that passed in which the bells didn’t sound, his heart dropped further in his chest. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His feet pounded the stone floors as they flew through corridors and halls. Several times guards tried to pursue them but they shook them off soon enough. Nothing had stopped him when he’d ran to rescue Tommen and he’d still been too late. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That won’t happen again. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bells called out. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The loud ringing spread across the keep. They’d reached the door to the tower leading towards the bells so the sound was nearly deafening. Jaime felt a broad smile spread across his features. His worries vanished. </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> was safe and alive and she’d saved the city. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He still bolted up the spiral stairs. A sudden longing to hold his only remaining child had entrapped him and was tugging him upwards to where he knew she’d be. His heart was singing in his chest and the noise of the bells, growing more and more overwhelming, was nothing more </span>
  <span>than</span>
  <span> a small chime to him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He threw open the door and rushed into the room. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ser Jaime?’ A small voiced called out to him. He’d expected to see </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> standing proudly by the great iron bells but she wasn’t there. His eyes drifted downwards and the scene unravelled before him, slowly, as if he was witnessing it himself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nearest to him, having burst through the door as he had moments ago, there lay a </span>
  <span>sellsword</span>
  <span>, a red stain still growing from a great gash. The force of the thrust that had made the cut had been so great that it had cleaved the armour he wore open, allowing easy access to the soft flesh below that split like supple meat and was still bleeding heavily. The man was dead though, there was no denying that. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Across from him, on his knees, Jaime spotted the hunched figure of a blond man he just </span>
  <span>recognised</span>
  <span>. His golden curls were askew and his orange tunic was dotted with red stains of blood not yet turned the colour of rust. He’d been the one to call out to him and now turned his head to gaze upon the both of them. His large brown eyes were wide and reddened. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The breath was knocked out of him and he crumbled to the floor. Laying in her husband’s blood sodden lap, Queen </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> lazily looked toward him, her eyes hooded and her face contorted in pain. Jaime felt nothing from the pain of falling hard on his knees and he dragged himself towards them both, eyes </span>
  <span>swivelling</span>
  <span> as he examined her body. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They fell soon on the reddening of her gown and his hand instinctively reached out to it, coming away hot and sticky. Her frame shunted up and down with her laboured breaths but she had the strength to reach out and clasp his hand firmly, green eyes meeting green. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I rang out the bells.’ She smiled faintly. Her eyes weren’t completely focused even as they stared towards him. They were misted over with the pride in her words. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You saved the city.’ He got out, holding back every urge he had to fall upon her body and let every ache be felt. </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> was stroking her waves of hair that sat around her head like a wreath of sun-light and Jaime forced a smile to see her looking so beautiful. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is there a dragon?’ Her voice rose unsteadily but she managed to finish her question. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Two.’ He assured, squeezing her hand tight. ‘Massive beasts breathing fire. Daenerys Targaryen is riding one of them.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uncle said they mocked him for wanting to ride a dragon but I wanted to too. The other girls were afraid of heights but I’d come to the top of the keep just to see the city from above. It must be wonderful to fly-’ The hand on her stomach balled tightly into a fist and she breathed shallow through a wave of sharp pains. Trystane was weeping over her, Jaime was lost. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In his mind he held his daughter in his arms for the first time. Joffrey had been kept away from him, not to raise suspicions, but what did Robert Baratheon care about his daughter? Jaime knew </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> had known about her true parentage before the others but she never hated him for it. He didn’t see her as much as he wanted. There was often something that drove him away, at his father’s wishes, and when he was in the keep, he spent too much time with Cersei. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Selfish, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>selfish and stupid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Neither of them had been good enough for </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> yet she’d flourished anyway. She was the best of two people with not a speck of goodness between them. And now-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her body rasped with every struggle for breath. She no longer spoke but looked upwards, her lips never faltering from their sweet smile. She shuddered, with a groan, and her hand fell limp in his grip. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The room was silent, despite the clanging of the bell beside them. </span>
  <span>Trystane’s</span>
  <span> weeping had ceased completely and he sat stuck still but for the hand that continued to gently stroke at his wife’s hair. To the side of the room, Bronn too stood completely motionless as no words of comfort came to him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime stood and wiped a hand across his face. He kept his eyes up and away from the floor. He couldn’t look. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pick her up.’ He demanded, at </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span>. The </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span> boy wiped his own tears and stared up at his own good-father like a stunned horse. When Jaime’s hard stare persisted, he jolted back into his own body and moved, carefully laying </span>
  <span>Myrcella’s</span>
  <span> head down while he stood and slipping his arms underneath her. When she was in his arms, Jaime turned towards the door and began the steep descent down the tower stairs. Once again, Bronn </span>
  <span>scrambled</span>
  <span> to keep up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where are you going?’ He asked, a touch of urgency in his tone. He’d never seen the man he’d followed for so long look so enraged, not even when he’d seen his son fall from his chamber window. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The fire that burned within Jaime wasn’t hot like a boiling pan but like shards of ice, cutting him up from the inside. His fists were balled tight together and he clenched his jaw even tighter in an effort at controlling himself. Now he found he was the horse, his eyes covered so that he could only see what was directly ahead of him. In this case, this was his dear, sweet sister. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Those men were from the Golden Company.’ He seethed as he reached the bottom of the stairs and began his march. ‘She ordered them to guard her own daughter because they didn’t care that she was the Queen or a Lannister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bronn went to say something but was quickly interrupted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei killed </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span>.’ The rooms they’d been taken to in Bronn’s ruse weren’t far away and they found themselves standing outside. Jaime and Bronn waited in silence as </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> caught up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime took hold of the door handle and looked behind him. ‘Now it’s my turn.’ </span>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Last Queen of Westeros</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asha was at the front of the van, alongside her brother, as they finally pushed through the city gates. Her legs ached and her arms throbbed from the constant back and forward of slashing and dodging while the Golden Company held their ground. She could understand what had paled the others, they worked merticulously and every fallen solider was soon replaced. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like wights with brains. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Still, paid sellswords always lacked something that volunteers could use over them. Even when it seemed as if they were about to be overwhelmed, she heard cries rising above the song of battle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For the North!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For the Starks!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For Queen Sansa!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For Queen Daenerys!’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the sound of hundreds of pounding horses in their direction was a welcome relief. The Tyrells entered the battle fresh and with as much energy as children, cutting the Golden Company down and using their full force to fell the gate. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She found herself at the forefront then and grabbed hold of Theon who was running a borrowed spear through a Golden </span>
  <span>chestplate</span>
  <span>. She searched behind them and located her own battalion which, although reduced in number, lined up proudly for her and thundered ahead. When the first lines of Lannister men were met inside, she veered away from the rest of the army and they cut through the streets at a jog, following the path laboured over for many hours. Tyrion’s advice on the route they should take had been more than accurate – they met only one small group of men on patrol and dealt with them in a flurry of blades. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The harbour appeared before them, the water glittering in the early sun. It was a calm day on the seas, even in the shallows, where barely a wave hit against the many Ironborn ships moored in the bay, bobbing gently. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>300 men looked back at her when she stopped. Enough, she hoped to take the command ship, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silence, </span>
  </em>
  <span>where her Uncle would surely be waiting. A true Ironborn would be fighting in the streets with the others and many had questioned her certainty that the great Crow’s Eye would be hiding away in the harbour but she was more than sure. Euron Greyjoy lived and breathed the seas, she could barely imagine him fighting on anything other than a deck, perhaps on a beach or in a cave.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s the bastard.’ She pointed her dirk towards the largest ship. ‘Don’t bother with the others, there’s </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span> on there, most are just following their false-King. Take as many of his dead crew as you can but save Euron for us.’ She launched a pleased smile towards her audience, turned back </span>
  <span>round,</span>
  <span> and gestured for them to keep moving. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Silence </span>
  </em>
  <span>was moored into the ocean so some stole rowing boats and others braved the winter waters, diving in from the jetties and ploughing their arms forward. Her and Theon opted for a rowing boat alongside some of the brawniest of the warriors she’d been able to get a hold off. With their strength and her cool voice calling out directions, they speed through the still waters like a galley and the oars were soon dropped again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In silence, the boats and men bobbed beside the great dark timber of the head of the Iron fleet. There was noise above as Euron’s strange crew started in sudden action and, not wanting to allow them too much time to prepare, she gave the signal with a raised hand and hundred hands began grappling at the wood panels. She held her dirk in the teeth, not wanting it to fall from her belt and be lost to the ocean, and began scaling the ship herself. She’d practiced this form of battle many times on Pyke and finding holds for her fingers and feet came to her almost without thought. Theon followed closely behind her, copying her movements, and they soon reached the top. For a moment, she hung there, and took a deep breath. Her mind emptied of all thoughts bar the one that saved her from tiring, the one that let her sleep at night and gave her hope even when she was certain the Northern army would fall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to kill </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Euron</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. Tonight, my Uncle will dine on the ocean floor. If we win, I’ll dine in the Red Keep and if we fail to take the city – at least I know he suffered. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Theon had reached her side, slightly out of breath but full of enough energy to shoot her a challenging look. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Scared?’ He smirked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She released one hand and sent it towards his arm, hard. He wobbled slightly but retained his grip. She took the dirk from her mouth. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of our Uncle?’ She smiled. ‘We may not have a cock between us, but we do have more balls than he ever will.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Theon nodded with a light chuckle and, finding the others had reached her height up the ship she replaced her knife and took hold of the deck of the ship, hauling herself up. With a great cry, their hundreds fell upon the ship’s crew and, at once, the battle was alive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Between hacking with her dirk and dropping down to avoid the swings of heavy axes, her eyes darted around the deck, searching for her Uncle. The Crow’s Eye was not a man to miss, yet she couldn’t see him anywhere. She cursed loudly before catching hold of the handle of a hatchet aimed at her and twisting from her attacker's hands. With a grumble, she danced across the deck, hopping around men, sometimes twisting in the completely wrong direction to avoid losing her head or being split down the middle. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Slightly out of breath, she reached the captain’s cabin, unlocked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Empty! </span>
  </em>
  <span>She pushed the wooden door open to find a lifeless room. It was littered with the many trophies her uncle had picked up from the years of travels and raiding but bore no signs that he’d been there recently. Theon caught up with her and joined her grumbling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut the fuck up.’ She called as she stomped back outside. The fighting raged on. She pulled herself onto a crate and brought her boots down hard on it. Theon beat the deck with the but of his sword. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut the fuck up!’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd before her stopped midway through their fighting. Hundreds of battle-lusting eyes shot back at her. Angry at being torn from their brutal conduct. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s my uncle? Who knows where he is?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The man who tells me truthfully where </span>
  <span>Euron</span>
  <span> is will be spared if he is found to be honest. You have my word as a Greyjoy.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>More silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In desperation she looked down to her brother but he appeared just as lost as she was. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know where he is.’ A gruff voice called out from the throng of men. At first, he was impossible to distinguish but the crowd soon </span>
  <span>separated</span>
  <span> and an aged warrior with a two-sided </span>
  <span>battleaxe</span>
  <span> revealed himself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Where?’ Theon spat out for her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s gone to see his pretty Queen up there.’ He pointed towards the Keep on the hill. Asha shook her head and cursed herself a hundred times. She hadn’t thought about her Uncle’s allegiance to the Lion Queen as being anything more than once of strategy. Of course </span>
  <span>Euron</span>
  <span> would seek her favour for more than just the pleasure of victory. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ She called out. The men around her appeared eager to get back to their slaughter. She pointed to the nearest Northmen to the man who had spoken. ‘Take him in there and keep him alive. If anything goes wrong, kill him.’ The men swiftly followed her word and led him into the captain’s quarters. She released a breath of pent up disappoint and dropped from her pedestal. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘To the Keep?’ Theon suggested, she nodded. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bells rang out. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bells rang out and Sansa offered a thousand prayers to the Gods. She had no way of knowing who had chimed the sound of peace and surrender but she thanked them too. She took a glance out of the window – men would be laying down their weapons, Lannister men would drop in submission and Daenerys would take her rightful place. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei’s face remained unchanged, fixed in its timeless cool grimace and she sat like a perfect statue. Even imprisoned and on the brink of execution, she held herself like a Queen who hadn’t just lost the city and throne she so ardently clung to. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things will be right now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she assured herself. The words of witches and dead men left her in a blink. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’ll be a trial for Cersei and her allies then the realm will finally find its peace. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door was thrown open and footsteps cascaded towards them. In a second the two Stark sisters were on their feet and their prisoner dared a glance upwards. Jaime Lannister stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his eyes swimming in something Sansa couldn’t place. His crimson blade clattered as it was thrown onto the stone floor and he began forward, his eyes fixed just past her. Instinctively, she stepped back not to get in his way and watched on as he effortlessly picked up the chair his sister sat in and placed it with its back to the window. She stepped forward to stop him but, before she had the chance, he was holding the chair so the failed Queen was half-hanging off the edge, the slight wind whipping at her face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jaime!’ She called out, taking hold of one of his arms. With a grunt, he shook her off and continued to edge Cersei closer towards the sheer drop. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Searching for an explanation, Sansa turned to Bronn, just entered, his face had taken on a grey pallor so different from his usual jovial redness. Behind him, a figure stood by the door, something in his arms. Jaime was whispering under his breath at his sister, shooting venom at her as he held her life in his one hand. Sansa’s </span>
  <span>curiosity</span>
  <span> was elsewhere, drawing her towards the bundle the blond boy she just </span>
  <span>recognised</span>
  <span> was carrying. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as his name came to mind – </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> Martell – she knew what was in his arms, or rather who. A flash of blonde hair splaying from the head proved her assumption. She reached a trembling hand forward, begging to be wrong, and parted the hair across the face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Myrcella-’ She whispered softly at the still figure. She hung limply in her husband’s arms like a soft doll. Her face captured her perfectness but now with the pale clamour of death. She brushed the back of her hand across the young Queen’s soft cheek, lacking its sweet blush of youth, and felt her other hand ball into a fist. ‘Set her down.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> did as he was bid, remaining on his knees with the body. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa didn’t bother to blink away the tears that were let loose down her own cheeks. Why should she? She’d barely known the Lannister girl but she’d never heard </span>
  <span>abad</span>
  <span>  word against her and now, it seemed, she’d risked her own life for the sake of her city. She felt the shaky breath as it passed through her chest and she didn’t try to right it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime had once told her, when she turned against the </span>
  <span>Freys</span>
  <span> in rush of </span>
  <span>maddness</span>
  <span>, that she had rage within her that needed controlling. It was not her place to release her anger in its wildness upon the world. It was an untapped source of power that she couldn’t begin to hope to wrestle into submission. She’d released it once before, on the battlefields outside Winterfell, and that burst of energy kept her alive when she rode to war. It had its dangers though, and she’d chosen to keep her composure since. His words echoed in her head but the sight of him told a different story. He held his own sister on the edge of death and spat accusations in her face. There was a true rage in him that went unchecked and hers threatened to do the same. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened?’ She demanded, looking to Bronn for an answer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime replied instead. ‘She wanted to ring out the bells like she promised but,’ he addressed Cersei directly, ‘you sent </span>
  <span>sellswords</span>
  <span> after her- didn't you? You knew they didn’t care who she was; you sent her to die.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not true, I didn’t know-’ Cersei spluttered out in genuine desperation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> died because you would not accept defeat, Tommen died because you would not except criticism and Joffrey died because you would not accept his insanity. You have killed our children – the one’s you call precious and sweet- the ones you promised to care for – are dead by your hand and no one else’s.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked carefully between them all but all she saw was red. Joffrey may have deserved death but Tommen and Myrcella were nothing like their cruel brother. Their blood was on her hands and murder of a child was one of the worst crimes anyone could commit. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your father once told me something,’ Sansa took a step towards the window so she could meet Cersei’s eye. ‘He told me I would die at your hands- I believed him. I came here today believing you would kill me but do you know what I’ve learnt instead?’ She waited for a second. ‘Men lie. Women lie. Everybody lies. He didn’t truly know if you were going to kill me; he just wanted me to accept my death so that it would actually happen. He was so close.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘W-what are you talking about?’ Cersei hissed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everybody lies –accept me. Ask anyone, I’m terrible at it. I can keep a secret well enough and produce enough fake smiles to stave off the beatings, but telling falsehoods? I can’t hide the blushes or meet anyone’s eye. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Therefore, you should believe me when I say that I will make sure, personally, that you are remembered as the mad Queen. You will be the murderous bitch that killed her own perfect children to get the throne for herself. You will be the one that killed her husband just to control the courts. You killed your councillors and your people in their own Sept and you let your poor and vulnerable stew in the streets below while you ruled from above. Myrcella will be grand, a martyr. Tommen will be pitied, a great loss to the realm. Joffrey will be your mistake, raised to be cruel and never shown the errors of his way. You will be nothing, do you </span>
  <span>understand</span>
  <span>? Lord Tywin made House Reyne disappear and now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>Castamere.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked towards Jaime, still gripping tightly to the chair. For a second, she jumped backwards and towards Arya. She shot her sister a look and, in understanding, was handed what she was looking for and another item that brought a smile to her face. Sansa returned and held out her find – Jaime's golden hand. She didn’t know how she knew Arya would’ve brought it but she did and was glad to find her guess was correct. The other thing, her own crown, was more unexpected and she reminded herself to question how it came into Arya’s possession without her knowledge. She passed her general his fixture and dropped her silver circlet onto the top of her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei, of House Lannister. I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen of the North and representative of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, sentence you to death for the crimes of murder, conspiracy and heresy- among many other sins you are known to have committed. While a trial would normally be necessary, I have decided, in this case, it will not be. I have personally born witness to your crimes on many occasions- any trial would be a farce just as much as Tyrion’s trial was at your own hands.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She drew in close, inches away. ‘You’ve spent your whole life lying and manipulating and cheating for a chance to rise to power. All you’ve ever wanted is to be seen... so why should your death be public? Let it be small and pitiful. The people will still celebrate it in the streets but they will not remember it in years to come. The say the North remembers but, this time, it will forget </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ser Jaime?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime looked up to her, his face strained but understanding. The once conflicted man, torn between his honour and the woman he had so long been with, was gone, replaced by one burning with unrestrained fury. He had been pushed so far away by her, there was no hope of that version of himself ever coming back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘By the seven, I hope you rot.’ He spat out. His arms let the chair back on its front legs and his eyes moved up her body where they rested at her slender neck. It was covered by the metalwork of her dress but he unfastened the </span>
  <span>gorget</span>
  <span> and flung it aside. Teeth clenched, eyes burning red and hot, he wrapped both hands around her neck and, with the one he could still feel with, he squeezed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa watched unblinking as Cersei fought hard against her restraints to free herself. Her hands rubbed against their rope bindings but there was no hope of release. Sansa doubted she’d manage to pry him off even if she didn’t free herself. Her eyes in their emerald light, were open wide, also unblinking. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish just plucked from the water and strange guttural sounds escaped the back of her throat. Jaime’s body never moved an inch, his foot rested on the chair to keep it still and the rest of his body was leaning over, his eyes never looking away as his twin, his second half, struggled for each breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No one could pull their eyes away. Her jerky movements and desperate rasps were enough to chill even the hardiest of men but none of them were strangers to death.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For Bronn, death was an old friend. </span>
  <span>Sellswords</span>
  <span> worked alongside death in their daily business and never forgot to thank it for the money they kept with every successful contract. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Death was more than a friend for Arya, it was her dancing partner. She kept her feet in time with it and it kept its feet in time with her – never coming together but remaining always close. Cersei had been on her list for too many years, to see her finally face death and suffer for it- it soothed her soul. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For Sansa, death was part of her. She’d seen death when she was supposed to come to life so now came alive to see another die. Death followed her like a faithful pup, always a call away and never daring to stray too far. Death wasn’t a friend, or a partner or an enemy. It was inevitable and had chosen her, especially, to </span>
  <span>scorch</span>
  <span> the earth with its </span>
  <span>decimation</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei tried once more for breath but nothing came. Her body grew suddenly still as her hands fell limply in defeat and her chest ceased its frantic rise and fall. Jaime held on still, squeezing on her throat as tears fell onto her empty form. Sansa wrapped a hand around his arm and this time he didn’t throw her off. He let go. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei Lannister’s green eyes looked up towards the sky, both the life and cruelty stripped from their once brightness. Sansa released a breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s done.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What now?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa Stark found herself </span>
  <span>completly</span>
  <span> entranced with nothing at all. Her mind had wandered so far that her sister’s call had nearly not been enough to rouse her. Before her, the still body of Cersei Lannister slumped in its chair, her usual smirk wiped away but a look of choking agony. Jaime stood nearby, head lowered, face shrouded in grey clouds. Arya wiped her hands down on her breeches and took her sister’s side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take the bodies away.’ Sansa looked at Trystane still kneeling and offered him a small smile. ‘Pull down the Lannister banners and wrap the Queen in one.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about Cersei?’ Jaime said coldly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa thought for a moment. The Queen mother could never deserve the same treatment as her daughter, even in death. She’d made a promise that Cersei would die in disgrace, she had no intention to forget it. With careful fingers she unclasped the Direwolf pin keeping her cloak together and pocketed it. She shrugged the thickly lined material off her shoulders and handed it to Jaime. It was dark and black and practical. He nodded his assent and began the work of lifting his once-sister from her seat, removing her ties and covering her form in darkness. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bells were still ringing out around them; Sansa became suddenly aware of the sound and their meaning. ‘Daenerys will be here soon. We should take them downstairs and-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa-’ Arya’s voice was unusually quiet and restrained. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes narrowed, Sansa followed her gaze, out of the window and into the city beyond. It wasn’t the city that had drawn her attention – the forces had dropped their swords as expected and the streets sat still- but the great Dragon that sat in the air above. Daenerys was seated on top, gently bobbing as they hovered in place, directed towards the Keep. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s she doing?’ Bronn sidled up beside them and cocked his head to the side. Sansa shook her head at her own confusion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know.’ She admitted. If it weren’t for the slow beat of the beast’s wings, she would’ve been certain they were not moving at all, frozen in time. She took a careful step forward, pressed her upper legs against the window frame as she strained for a closer look. She could make out the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> sitting on her high perch, eyes fixed ahead, face set in a look of stern concentration. Daenerys’ body was tense and she sat on Rhaegal’s back like a prowling cat – low and ready to strike. Sansa could see the woman’s mind spinning even from the great distance between them. She understood. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s thinking.’ She spoke out loud. Everyone around her nodded their agreement. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She wasn’t supposed to come this far into the city, the wildfire...’ Jaime’s voice trailed off in his own realisation</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, she wasn’t.’ Sansa spoke quietly. There was something in Daenerys’ eyes that was deeply unsettling. The indecision was like a battle within her and it bubbled over the outside. On her dragon, she breathed heavily and clung tightly. Sansa knew that expression and she feared it most of all. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let’s go.’ Bronn urged, dropping by </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> to pull him to his feet. No one else dared to move. He threw up his hands and looked between them all. ‘She’s about to send us all to our fiery demises and you’re just standing there? I’ve seen enough of that green stuff to know to keep well away.’ He huffed but still, everybody held their position. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought she wanted to save the city?’ Arya spoke harshly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perhaps she still does.’ Sansa offered. ‘Maybe she realises that we’re here and think we’re the enemies she needs to destroy. Maybe she thinks burning the Keep is the best way to root out the corruption of the city. Maybe she wants to burn it all down because she’d fought all her life to get here only to find it a cess-pool of a city. Maybe she’s as mad as her father was.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You </span>
  <span>think</span>
  <span> she’s mad?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, not yet at least.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘When a Targaryen is born, the Gods toss a coin of </span>
  <span>madness</span>
  <span> and greatness. It runs in the family. I’ve seen if for myself, your Grace. No one can control the insanity.’ Ser Jaime Lannister spoke gravely, recalling the Mad King and the oaths he had to break to save millions. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t believe in that.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Azor </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Ahai</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> said our fates are our own. ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>We all are capable of </span>
  <span>madness</span>
  <span>. Cersei was mad with power yet she was no Targaryen. Whether or not they truly have a taint is to be seen but I don’t believe that any of us are born to be a certain way. If that was true, I would be a Lady married off to some horrible Lord, already popping out ugly children to secure his seat.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was silence. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘If there is a coin to be tossed. It is being tossed now by Daenerys as she dances the line her father fell across. If she burns the city – they'll call her mad. If she doesn’t - she’ll still have the chance to be great.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do we do?’ Bronn had reserved to remain with them but grumbled nonetheless. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing at all.’ Jaime wrenched his golden hand off and dropped it by his feet with a metallic clang. ‘If she chooses madness, we’d burn soon no matter. Why not here?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Arya drew closer to her sister as they watched on in silence. Daenerys was yet to make her move. The dragon piece on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyvasse</span>
  </em>
  <span> table still hung back in the mountains; but her hand was on it, calculating her move through her fury. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes were wide and unblinking – Sansa met their violet lights with her own and held the stare until she was gone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa blinked quickly and started forwards in confusion. One moment Daenerys had been hovering in the near-distance, the next the dragon she was sitting on turned suddenly on its back and she was thrown into empty space. The room collectively held its breath as Daenerys was flung like a rag in one direction while her great dragon, a thick bolt in its underside, crashed down in another. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The flash of wing from Sansa’s dreams appeared from the right and, wings kept close it its body, it sped downwards while its brother fell hard upon a row of houses that collapsed in on themselves as if they were made of sticks. The dark wings spread out at the last minute and wheeled around and upwards, rising high once again and disappearing into the clouds. Just before </span>
  <span>Drogon</span>
  <span> was completely consumed by the grey, heavy sky, Sansa caught a glimpse of white hair trailing behind and pale flesh wrapped around his thick neck. She released her breath and stared, open mouth, into the suddenly still sky. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They all waited for the dragon to surface. The grey clouds had parted for the black beast and his unexpected rider but they were never spat back out. No dark shadows could be seen above and, listen as they did, no sound of beating wings or huffed breath could be heard. Just as quickly as </span>
  <span>Drogon</span>
  <span> had appeared and dived, he was gone and with him Daenerys Targaryen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She had no words. No one did. The world was truly silent and caught frozen by what all had witnessed. She could be sure the men still in the streets and those out in the ships had all watched with the same bated breath as the scene unfolded. King’s Landing was set in stone and the rest of Westeros felt a thousand leagues away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Three Queens shall stand in the halls, one shall leave, one will fall and the other will welcome her love’s embrace</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ </span>
  <span>Helaria’s</span>
  <span> rasping voice sung in her ear. Daenerys had never set foot within the halls. </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> had been the one to fall and Cersei, dying at her brother’s hand, had been embraced by him in death. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And I will leave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It made sense to her now. She wanted nothing more than to put the city behind her and see her sweet home once more. While others mediated over what they had just seen, pictures of Winterfell unravelled in her head. She saw Bran sitting in the courtyard in his chair, Arya on the ramparts and herself, looking down on all from her window. Cersei was dead and the realm might just find peace – </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can go home. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But she knew that was a lie, too poorly told to even convince herself. Something deep within her told her that Daenerys would not be returning to take her throne. The witch-woman had said it herself that someone else would take the crown before the dragon and see the realm restored to peace and safety. She had to ensure whoever took that place was fit for the job. Then she really could finally settle at Winterfell. She felt like a tired old warrior, long sick of the days of fighting and camp-living, hungering for the comforts of a home long-left. She may not have been an aged knight or Lord but she felt she’d lived enough for most. Home drew her in like a mother’s comforting arms and a father’s sparkling eyes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let’s go.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa was born into action at once. Her crown had come askew but she fixed it on her head and started towards the door. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Great Hall.’ She explained quickly. The others shot </span>
  <span>eachother</span>
  <span> quizzical looks but gave her their trust. Picking up their packs and, for Jaime and </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span>, their carefully packed bundles, they followed her back through the halls and corridors, keeping a quick pace as she stalked her way onwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘People will be here soon.’ She stood before them as they reached the Great Hall. She knew well the remaining armies would be filling up the room, eager to find explanation and conclusion to the battle. Arya moved quickly, reaching up on her toes and tearing down as many Lannister lion banners as could and throwing them into the burning fires that lit the room. Cersei and Myrcella were laid down carefully before the throne, the Lioness’s iron crown rolling from her short locks as she hit the ground. Jaime snatched it up before it escaped from him and cast his eyes over each sharp point. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa.’ He took hold of her arm and moved her aside. ‘You should have this.’ He pressed the crown into her hands. She tried to push it away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know I don’t want it.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But someone must have it.’ She could see the desperation in his eyes. She took the piece of iron, heavier than she expected, and met his eyes. ‘Make the decision, your Grace.’ He stepped back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fell on the iron throne. It sat just as she remembered, in the centre of a range of chairs and tables set up as if the Queen and her council were due to arrive to court at any moment. The throne that so many had bled over remained completely unchanged and, still, unappealing. Cold and sharp, its points, like the crown in her hand, kept away the unworthy and gave its owner the difficult job of sitting upon it without constantly cutting themselves. It was a test, but not one she desired to take. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she sat down upon it. Her legs had moved of their own accord and span around so that she could lower herself carefully into its large seat, made for men larger than herself, like Robert Baratheon had been. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys would’ve been engulfed by her own throne. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She placed the circlet in her lap and held herself high. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone had told her once the story of the </span>
  <span>siege</span>
  <span> of King’s Landing. They told her of the Mad King killing her Uncle and Grandfather at once, of Jaime burying his blade in the King’s back and of army finally breaching the gates to the city. When her father had arrived, the first into the throne room, he’d found Jaime Lannister seated upon the throne, the bodies of the </span>
  <span>Targaryens</span>
  <span> laid out before him. Her father had approached, and Jaime had ceded the chair, but the message was heard nonetheless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Lansnisters</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> won the crown for Robert Baratheon- he owed them heavily. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want the crown to owe her anything. She barely wanted anything to do with the cruel city she so longed to leave every time she entered. Yet there was something too tempting to ignore that drove her to take the seat for herself, just for a short while. Those around her did not question her. They waited in perfect silence as the light thundering of approaching men echoed towards them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa focused on her breathing – slow and measured. She could not be sure what would face her when the doors were opened and the crowns on her lap and her head weighed heavily. Her eyes dropped down to the bodies on the ground and her heart ached for the smaller of the two in its deep crimson and gold covering. Honestly, she couldn’t see what would happen to Myrcella, once Daenerys took the throne, but she had prayed the </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span> would see the sacrifice she’d made and be merciful. Myrcella hadn’t been gifted mercy, only the cruel knife of a stranger. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The footsteps were growing nearer. They weren’t running, which she was glad for, but they hurried down the wide corridors between the gates to the keep and the Great Hall. Many of which may have never entered it before but she could imagine those that had would be leading the way and the rest would follow. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Something crashed open behind her. All five of them swung round at once and hands moved instinctively to hilts of swords and knives. Arya was the first to shout out to them that there was no threat. The Hound limped his way into the chamber from the doors at the back of the room, clutching his side heavily and clenching his teeth together, hard. Her sister approached the lumbering man first and lay her small hand on his thick arms. Sansa watched curiously as the great man smiled softly at Arya and allowed her to lead him to a bench where he sat </span>
  <span>down</span>
  <span> heavily. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s dead.’ He growled. Nobody needed him to explain who he meant. With the mountain gone, Sansa felt the slightest tension released from her shoulders. She nodded firmly towards the Hound and returned to looking at the doors. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ another voice came from behind her and, once again, she craned her neck backwards. ‘No thanks to me, of course.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa recognised the deep tones of Dorne in an instant and her look confirmed her theories. Before her, face and amber jerkin splattered in fresh blood, </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> Sand bounded in their direction. At her side, she rolled up her leather bull whip, dripping red, and placed her hands on her hips as she looked over the scene before her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nymeria?’ The word stuck in Sansa’s throat. The second-eldest </span>
  <span>sandsnake</span>
  <span> had fled with her sister Obara when they were called back to Dorne, supposedly by Arianne. They’d left so suddenly and with such anger that Sansa doubted she’d see any of them again without fearing for her life. Nymeria shot her an easy smile and greeted the others, as if nothing had ever passed between them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace.’ </span>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> bowed her head before Sansa. ‘Well done.’ She gestured to the fallen bodies and the crown sitting in her lap. Sansa meant to explain that neither were hers to claim but other questions also pushed forward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought you went to Dorne with Obara?’ She spoke lowly, trying to keep her voice from sounding accusatory. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did, but I didn’t believe that damned letter. The Arianne I knew wouldn’t write like that, even if it was in her hand. Obara was convinced so I agreed to go. Ellaria meant to trap us with her, even when the Princess wasn’t produced.’ She scoffed in laughter. ‘Obviously she underestimated me.’ In proof, she stroked the hand of her whip. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘T-’ Sansa went to thank the </span>
  <span>Dornish</span>
  <span>-woman for her help but was cut off by the call of the doors ahead of them. All looked up as the great wood was heaved open from the other side, revealing them to the hundreds of eyes fighting on the other side for a glimpse of what was happening inside. In understanding, Nymeria fell away and took a place nearby Prince </span>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> who found himself comfortable near the back of the hall. Sansa was quickly flanked by Arya and Jaime on either side and Bronn stood as a guard against the wall, his short sword in hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crowds flowed in like the Trident at its fastest point. They crashed and tumbled through the door and spread out onto the floor below. When they were in, however, the water ebbed and the onlookers slowed to careful steps as they approached the crown. There was light chatter on the floor but no one addressed her. Sansa held her expression firm, her eyes canvassing across the room as she searched for familiar faces. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At last, some came into view. Ser Brienne pushed through the crowd with her sword out, broad arms clearing a path for her instantly. She started forward and stopped dead before the crown. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Queen?’ She </span>
  <span>muttered,</span>
  <span> her eyes raised in a question. They darted briefly to Jaime then over the covered bodies. Her questions appeared to have been answered. She dropped down to her knees and the stones rung as her plate met them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Brienne there’s no need.’ Sansa waved her hand and spoke quietly to her Commander of the </span>
  <span>Queensguard</span>
  <span>. Brienne raised her dropped head and, slightly flushed, pushed herself back to her feet. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>More people were approaching the throne now and Brienne soon remembered her role. She held out her scarlet blade and people soon took a step back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes fell back on the crowds. She knew who she was looking for in her heart but she didn’t dare think the name. There were many of her closest friends and allies in the streets or in the camp waiting. In truth she wanted to see all of them pass through the door to be sure of their safety but only one really stuck out to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She spotted a mass of red hair and was soothed to see the wildling Tormund approach. He delivered a poor dip as a bow and spoke his congratulations with his usual broad grin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many did we lose?’ She asked in a hushed tone. His eyes lost some of their brightness and his took a deep breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t say exactly. Golden fuckers had us for a moment before the roses came along. We um –ahem- lost Lady Uma.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa breathed sharply through her nose and waved him along with a thanks. She could not think long on what he had said. No sooner had the Tyrells been mentioned, the Roses of Highgarden made their appearance amongst members of the Reach host. </span>
  <span>Willas</span>
  <span> Tyrell lead the charge on his cane, embroidered so it seemed like a vine was crawling up the white wood. Behind him, his sister, gowned in bright blue like a true Lady once again, followed closely. Ser </span>
  <span>Garlan</span>
  <span> wasn’t with them and, by the weak smile Margaery offered, she guessed what had befallen him. Her mind jumped quickly to his poor bride Lady Leonette who had spoken so sweetly at Highgarden. The two seemed genuinely enamoured of another and it was blow to imagine her left alone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Grace.’ Lord Tyrell, as he was now, dropped as far as his weak legs would allow him and bobbed back up slowly with his sister’s aid. He stepped forward and planted a kiss on Sansa’s hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, Lord. I believe we would not stand here were it not for your men.’ She spoke coolly. There was something on her mind that she couldn’t quite shake but she forced herself not to speak her qualms aloud. Lord Willas had shown his intent to join her cause long ago but had been held back by his father. Mace Tyrell had died almost a year ago yet the Reach’s men only reached them as the battle was already underway. She was reminded, unfortunately, of the Late Lord Frey, who always held off his forces until he was sure who would be the winning side. Lord Willas committed himself when they could turn the tide yet hundreds had already fallen by then. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They did the same during the Battle of Blackwater, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminded herself. It seemed showing themselves to be the saviours was a common trait of Tyrells. She found it unsettling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, Queen Sansa.’ He raised a brow. ‘What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the plan here? Will you be claiming the throne by conquest?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <span>shook</span>
  <span> her head and let out a dismissive laugh. She could think of nothing worse than sitting upon the Iron Throne for her lifetime. She wished to explain this to him and question his tardy arrival but her attention was drawn elsewhere. A group of men and women fell into the hall and the common-folk and nobles alike knew to make way for them. Finding their conversation over, Margaery led her brother to the side, clearing Sansa’s view ahead. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion Lannister stood at the centre of the throng, surrounded by Ser Davos Seaworth, </span>
  <span>Missandei</span>
  <span> of </span>
  <span>Narth</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>Greyworm</span>
  <span> of the Unsullied and, looking rather out of place, Gendry Waters. The young smith was swinging his </span>
  <span>warhammer</span>
  <span> by his side but stopped when his eyes met the young woman standing beside the Iron Throne, dressed in men’s garb. The corner of his mouth turned up in a relieved smile and he kept his blue eyes fixed on her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sansa-’ Tyrion reached the throne and looked up towards his wife, slightly breathless. She could imagine his mind was reeling with the battle still fresh and, more importantly, his Queen lost to the clouds on her dragon. His green eyes told a different tale, brimming with something she took for pride. She wanted to hold that expression in her thoughts forever but it soon melted away when he glanced downwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei killed her.’ Jaime explained, strained. Tyrion’s eyes had fallen to the bodies of his family at the floor, particularly at the few waves of Lannister blonde hair that had escaped their covering. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’ Sansa mumbled, knowing it was far from enough. She had seen her husband’s fondness for his niece and nephew during her stay in King’s Landing and found it a welcome respite from the cruelties everywhere else. He genuinely cared for </span>
  <span>Myrcella</span>
  <span> and fought to have her safely away from the city and in the hands of Dorne. He had been right to get her away, of course, but he had failed to keep her there. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He coughed to hide any emotion and looked back up, eyes having lost their light. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What now?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckled despite herself. ‘Gods know.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Daenerys she-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I saw.’ Sansa looked around the room at the expectant faces. They were awaiting news but she still didn’t know what it would be. With every second the iron crown pressed harder into her lap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t belong to me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That she knew for certain, and she was glad for it. The witch had said someone else would take it and now Sansa found herself faced with that exact dilemma. Who would be worthy of such a role, who wouldn’t crack like their predecessors? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Being King or Queen is a job- not a title. Whoever sits here must do their duty without the need to seek power. They must protect their people, not exploit them or forget about them altogether. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Names on her list dropped away. Even those she trusted most seemed unfit for the position. She looked down before her and her mind settled. One name didn’t vanish. One name suited every requirement and, to her, made sense. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know what I must do. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Drawing the complete attention of the room and stopping all conversation, Sansa stood from the chair, slowly. Once again, she found herself needing to control her breathing as it threatened to grow out of her control. Only a few hundred eyes were on her but she felt the entire realm watching on. For good reason too; she was deciding the fate of them all with one simple move. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei Lannister is dead.’ She began loudly. No one appeared surprised. ‘Normally I would opt for a trial to bring true justice but I personally have witnessed her number of crimes. Any trial would only prolong her contemptuous life. It was better for it to be done quickly and end her hold on the realm.’ She took a measured pause. ‘Queen Myrcella is also dead.’ That allotted for some gasps and chatter. ‘She was killed ringing out the bells by mercenaries hired by Cersei. May she be remembered for her kindness and, above all, her sacrifice.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sombre words were spoken in the young Lannister’s name. Jaime bowed his head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Westeros must have a ruler. Someone new to bring real change and see this city and the realm beyond returned to its peace. Death and war have been our masters for too long but those times end today. I followed Queen Daenerys Targaryen who, through her father, claims this throne. I vouched for her and saw her fit for the position and was ready to accept her as Queen of the South. Daenerys, however is gone, and I do not think she will be returning soon.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath her, Tyrion clenched his jaw and looked at the floor. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, someone else must take the responsibility.’ People looked back at her and nodded. No one could imagine the prospect of King’s Landing with no King. ‘It must be someone with experience and with patience. Someone who will work to improve this city and realm without selfish motive. We’ve had our share of madness- now it is time for serenity. I can make no claims to the throne myself. The North has declared itself independent and my place is in Winterfell, as its Queen. Yet, allow me the chance to make my case and you may decide whether it is wise.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frantic faces looked around between friends and family, soldiers and commanders, as if any one of them could be selected. Men hoped to meet the Northern woman’s gaze as she looked outward but her eyes were not looking for a perfect specimen sent from the Gods and dropped in the crowd to be discovered. She’d had her spell of working for the Gods and had no intention of acting as their servant anymore. The name she spoke had to be one of her own choice- otherwise what would be the point? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She breathed a little shakily, unsure what reaction she would meet and clenched one of her hands tightly around the iron crown. She cast her eyes briefly down to it, reminding herself of its significance, and addressed the room once more. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tyrion Lannister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Voices rose instantly. Men around her sought to hush the crowds but she remained still where she stood and waited patiently for them to calm down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lord Tyrion comes here as Hand to Daenerys Targaryen. It is she who claims this crown, through birth-right and conquest, and I see it reasonable that her Hand should take her place until she returns.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And if she doesn’t?’ A voice rang out from the crowd, others muttered in assent. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then I believe Lord Tyrion will do what is best for the realm. Lest I remind you that he has sat on the council many times, served as Hand twice and oversaw the saving of the city during the Battle of Blackwater. Lord Lannister is no warrior, yet he has fought again and again for loyalty and honour. Who else can you name to do so much?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck the Lannisters!’ A lone voice cried.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took a measured breath. ‘I understand your fears. I myself have seen the very worst of the Lannister family and would be hesitant to vouch for any of them without a true belief in their person. Tyrion Lannister is far from his sister or his nephew or his father. He is wise and brave and, for most of his life, your humble servant.’ She glanced around t</span>
  <span>he</span>
  <span> room. Some faces looked back at her in agreement but others frowned and shook their heads defiantly. She knew as soon as the thought came to mind that it would a difficult sell yet she could think of no other to fill the place. She caught the eye of Margaery beside her brother. Even her own Lady Hand bore an expression of reserved doubt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am the fool? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She felt Tyrion’s eyes on her as well but didn’t dare look down to meet them. She thought he’d look at her mockingly and jeer at her stupidity. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a stupid little girl. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d been called that so many times that she began to believe it. She wished to take a seat again and escape from the looks but she knew she could not rest on the Iron Throne ever again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Queen Daenerys must be given time. The city would never have been saved if it weren’t for her.’ Sansa spoke up again, not sure of her own words. ‘We do not know when or if she’ll be back but-but whomever takes the throne before her will have to answer to her. If they are not a friend, she will name them traitor and see them burnt.’ Sansa did not doubt that, her mind travelled to the thought of some poor fool given a crown only to have it melted to their head in </span>
  <span>dragonsbreath</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I say as her Hand, Tyrion Lannister takes her position. Let the realm be stable once again before we seek to make new conflict.’ She thought quickly. ‘Give the Queen three years to return and claim her position. It is not that long. If she had not returned in due time – a new decision will be made.’ She finished firmly. She knew her plan only prolonged the inevitable hard decision that would likely cause more bickering and violence, but she was not about to set about making new wars while the old one sat so fresh in its gilt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crown was such a weight in her hands and she longed to put it down. She searched the faces before her and not one gave their thoughts away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who here opposes this?’ She called </span>
  <span>out,</span>
  <span> her voice sharp. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No man made a move but she still felt the heat of Lady Margaery’s burning expression from her side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She would not dare say a word against me, or she’d risk us all looking </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa reminded herself to quell the unease. The room was still silent. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then Lord Tyrion of House Lannister will rule in Daenerys Targaryen’s place. He will wear the crown in her name and bring peace as she would.’ She intended it to come out as a statement but she couldn’t help but end in a question. Even her own words seemed strange to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye!’ A few voices replied to her. Soon the whole room came alive with nodding and signs of approval. She closed her eyes tight and settled herself before she looked downwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion breathed heavily but he could not hear it over the drumming of hot blood coursing through his ears. His heart thundered so hard he thought it would break from his chest. His eyes flicked to his brother, stood proudly at the side of the throne where he’d once stood for King Aerys. Jaime met him and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He let his gaze fall back on the towering figure of Sansa Stark before him. She held herself and commanded the room as if she knew no one would oppose her and, he soon realised, she was right. The crown at her head, perfectly wrought in fragile silver, shone like a beacon in the morning light and he knew not one eye could be torn from it. Her eyes, blue as the summer sea, shone when she spoke and the perfect lines of her mouth were fixed in a soft, warm smile that did away with the pain and suffering of years. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what she had said and that she was still speaking but her words washed over him like a fresh breeze. He knew she’d named him for King but he rooted himself in so much disbelief he became unsure that he hadn’t imagined it all. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps I am dead and these are the dreams of a poor man lying bleeding on the street. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then again, he could not think how he would’ve died. As instructed, he remained in the camp whilst the men trotted off to battle. Only when news of the fall of the city walls was brought to them did he dare leave and follow the Northern host to watch from afar. No danger had ever come to him so he knew he couldn’t be dead. Reality was, as it had always been, right in front of him, however much he denied it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>King</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <span>Everytime</span>
  <span> she said it, or when she said crown or throne, his mind worked over the words with extra difficulty. He was not meant for Kingship- any man would say. Dwarves were meant to die young and save their family shame. He had failed to do this and never heard the last of his father’s distain for his inability to pack off and expire. Even so, he’d grown into manhood in the worst way (although his younger self would disagree) - a lazy whoremonger wasting family coin and moments of stolen bliss. For a moment he’d had the real thing but it had been torn from him just as quick as his short fingers could grasp it. He was not meant for good things – that had taught him enough. Falling into bed with a whore was as natural to him as it was sordid to others. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Whoring didn’t disqualify a man from Kingship- Robert Baratheon proved that more than enough times- but it did strike him far apart from what Sansa wanted. He could picture the ruler she intended. An honourable man, like her father, with the strength and wisdom to bring the realm to peace. Such a feat was near impossible and required the best of men; </span>
  <em>
    <span>that can’t be me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You were the best of them.’</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Of whom?’</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Everyone.’ </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her soft words rang in his ears and he knew she meant them. They’d sat on the stairs to the tower, both awaiting painful deaths, and she’d looked so sweetly towards him that night he couldn’t help himself but seize her and do what he had longed to do since he’d seen her again at Winterfell. Now she was saying it again, albeit in a different way, and he still didn’t know how to respond. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As he stared upwards, half in shock and half besotted, he at once felt every eye in the room on his back. She’d stopped talking and everyone held a joint breath in the stillness. Sansa bowed her head and their eyes met. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What </span>
  <span>are</span>
  
  <span>you</span>
  <span> doing?’ He whispered in urgency. In truth, he wanted to say how grateful he was that she lived and how fucked his life seemed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s best.’ She smiled effortlessly. Her hands held up the iron, thankless crown so that the room could see. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m no King.’ He hissed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>be.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he blinked </span>
  <span>hard</span>
  <span> he could see, though she beamed outwardly, there was a sadness in her eyes. They both knew what the twin crowns they would wear meant. The North had declared its independence and her place was with them; she’d said it herself. His place had to be in the South, his arse aching on the hard throne beneath it. The crown was a sentence for them both. A sentence of separation. She knew what she was doing. He knew what he was accepting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I cannot turn it down. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knew that too. For the sake of his </span>
  <span>Dragonqueen</span>
  <span>, he had to wear the crown and take its weight. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When no further objection came and the silence had drawn on long enough, she moved. He turned on his heel in a small circle where he stood as she walked around him. She no longer stood between him and the Iron Throne, no one did. He looked out at the Great Hall and saw nothing at all. Bodies were crammed in straining to see but he did not </span>
  <span>recognise</span>
  <span> them and couldn’t care who they were. His mind was on the circle of metal reaching out towards him and being settled, softly, on his somewhat unkempt browned curls. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crown only today worn by his dead sister did not sit properly on his head. His temple was much larger than hers but it sat well enough for the moment and he made no complaint. It was heavy and bulky, as expected, and he already longed for the chance to take it off. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes regarded him slowly, taking everything in before turning completely away. He wanted to say something but at once, as soon as he was completely revealed, shouts rose in the halls. He heard his own name clattered around, bouncing off the walls and ceilings, mixed with his wife’s who took her place to his side, hands folded neatly and eyes downcast. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The noise was so loud that the sound of the doors being nearly thrown from their hinges didn’t register with anyone. Slowly however, as those nearby took notice, the din fell away and all froze in place. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You!’ A low voice bellowed, dripping with malice. Sansa strained to find its source but soon, with a shove, he revealed himself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the dark leathers of the Ironborn, face heavily scarred and twisted into a cruel smirk, Euron Greyjoy approached. Neither Sansa not Tyrion had ever had the sure pleasure of meeting the Crow’s Eye but the stories told of him were enough to identify the raider as he made the approach. The men and women around them drew their swords but he didn’t show any fear. In one hand he held a short sword, red with fresh blood, and the other a dark-tipped spear, drawn back in his grip and ready to spring. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘How dare you bastards sit in her place?’ He called out, raising his sword arm in anger. ‘A woman and a dwarf? Do you really think anyone would bow to a woman and a dw-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>An arrow in the throat interrupted him. He looked down at it, open his mouth as to question the bolt itself, before keeling over and smacking hard upon the ground. The crowds had parted for him as the </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span> King had passed through and, at the end of their tunnel, second arrow notched just in case, Theon Greyjoy stood. Beside him, knife by her side, his sister panted hard but wore a smile Sansa didn’t think possible from the daughter of the Kraken. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No one went to check that Euron was dead. No man could survive an arrow through the neck. He coughed and spluttered several times on the ground but soon fell completely still and a wave of relief flushed over the hall. The </span>
  <span>Ironborn</span>
  <span> siblings marched forward toward the throne, Asha delivering her uncle a swift quick as she passed, and bowed their heads to Tyrion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The finality hit Sansa in the gut like </span>
  <span>na</span>
  <span> iron fist. Every man and woman she’d travelled with had done so for a certain purpose. Some general – to being justice and peace, others more personal – to enact revenge. The </span>
  <span>Greyjoys</span>
  <span> made clear they marched with the intention of killing their Uncle who had killed their father and taken the throne for himself. Now his body lay prone on the stone, his ship sat still in the harbour, ripe and waiting, and they could claim his death as their own. Nymeria had travelled North with the promise that she and her sisters would help their father finally avenge their aunt by killing the Mountain. Nymeria had done so without the help of the other </span>
  <span>sandsnakes</span>
  <span> and without Prince Oberyn but she’d still finally brought the </span>
  <span>Martells</span>
  <span> the relief of his death. Jaime and Tyrion sought to remove their sister, Arya sought to cross some names from her list and those who joined Daenerys wanted to see the Targaryen’s on the throne. All this had been done, in a single day – even if some would have to settle for Tyrion while they awaited their true Queen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa knew her own goal had been fulfilled. So long ago when she’d been called upon by Littlefinger and told she hadn’t done enough- she set herself the goal of escaping and </span>
  <span>taking</span>
  <span> down a Lannister with her. Then, with that done, her intentions morphed into reclaiming her home and title, then saving it from the dead. Her aim, even while others matters took her attention, was always to see Cersei Lannister dethroned. She’d dreamt of golden blood down the keep’s walls and her dreams had come true. She’d seen the joint armies of the realm marching on the city and the dragons soaring above. It was everything that she could hope and wish for. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it’s not enough. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Winterfell called her. Her home reached out to rush her back. She’d sit on her seat in the halls and rebuilt what had been lost. The lands would be restored and </span>
  <span>redistributed</span>
  <span> and, eventually she knew, things would be as they were. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t want things to go back to the way they were. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flicked over to Tyrion as he looked out from his newly-granted throne. She knew she’d made the right decision. She knew it as soon as she dropped the crown upon his head. Yet she wished that she’d been wrong. Winterfell called her but it called from so far away. She hated King’s Landing and by no means wished to stay any longer than required and yet-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She dropped her eyes away from him and felt her legs move beneath her. She slipped away as quietly as she could through the back door where the sudden </span>
  <span>loneliness</span>
  <span> dropped hard on her. She grasped the crown on her head and brought it down in front of her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Curse you.’ She whispered to the beautiful silver as if it had personally delivered the blow. Everything was done, the </span>
  <span>realm</span>
  <span> was saved, her crown was safe and her family was avenged. She would go home with Arya and Brienne, see Bran safe and well and begin her life, her true life, as Queen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes tight and a single tear dropped down. She hastily rubbed at her cheek and denied the tear’s existence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who cries at such a victory? Stupid, stupid girl. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She replaced her crown, sniffed shortly and blinked away </span>
  <span>any more</span>
  <span> signs of her own stupidity. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am Sansa of House Stark, first of her name, Queen of the North. I am the Burned Wolf of Winterfell. I have brought peace and justice. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now I can go home.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Epilogue: The Dragon, the Snake and the Stag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Daenerys Targaryen wrapped her arms around Drogon’s thick, scaled, neck and leant down close to the warmth of his heaving body. When she found herself upon his back and not on the stone ground, she quickly scrambled to get a hold on him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her decision, it seemed had been made, and she willed him up, up and away. They ascended higher into the sky until they were completely shrouded by the cold clouds above. She refused to turn to look around; she knew precisely what she’d see behind her. The city of King’s Landing getting smaller and smaller while the Red Keep sat on its hill, mocking her, laughing at her. How, she wondered as they flew, how could she come so close but will herself away at the last moment? She had every chance to turn Drogon round and return to the throne she had dreamt of since her brother was killed. She lay flat, breathing still unsteady and mind spinning wildly as if she were still falling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did I want to fall? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was a sweet feeling, while it lasted. She didn’t want to hit the ground, she knew that, but the air around her was cool and she hung in it in a place where nothing really mattered. It was only a fleeting sensation but she clung it as they rode, as they put leagues between themselves and the crown she coveted. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At </span>
  <span>one</span>
  <span> point, she came to the stinging realisation that she was leaving her child behind. Rhaegal had fallen from her- she didn’t know why or whether he survived, but the image of him left without her almost drove her to turn around. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know where they were going except away. There was no destination in mind nor a plan for her to follow. </span>
  <span>Drogon</span>
  <span> simply soared ahead and she had no objection. When they were steady and she was confident that his injured wing was no longer holding him back, she raised herself up, one hand resting on his scaled back, and reached beneath her jacket. After some wobbling and cursing, she retrieved what she had been searching for- a skin of wine. She brought it under Tyrion’s advice. He told her he always carried a full flask when he hung between life and death. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Best to go out with a warm belly.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ He’d smirked on the night before they laid waste to the city. That was before his wife and brother were reported missing and his face lost its flush. Still, she’d taken his word and strapped a skin to herself that she now drunk deeply from. It was all she had – no food or other drink- but she finished it quickly and flung it into the abyss below. Carefully, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and focused her attention on their direction. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They’d set off North but now, by the sprawling oceans opening up beneath, she was certain they were heading East, back towards the lands she spent so long trying to escape. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can turn at any point. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing for her in Essos, she knew that well enough. The cities there cared little for the rightful Queen to a far-off kingdom. She would maybe find someone willing to house and feed her, with the promise of repayment in the future – </span>
  <em>
    <span>but isn’t that how I’ve spent most of my life? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Going from house to house with </span>
  <span>Illyrio</span>
  <span> was her life before she was sold to Khal Drogo. Then her brother was biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to seize power. She’d had hers, and let it go. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wanted to burn it all. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The flame within her hadn’t completely died away and its lingering warmth served as a reminder for those </span>
  <span>momenst</span>
  <span> she sat open Rhaegal’s back and felt the uncontrollable urge to start completely afresh. The city was rotten, she could smell it, and she knew well that sometimes flame was the best way to eat away at infection. She wanted to break the wheel and, while she looked over the Red Keep, something told her that the only way of doing that was to destroy it completly. She could chop off the head but the roots were deep within the city itself. Its people were just as corrupted as the walls they lived within. She could envision the flat land and saw a beautiful city rise in white stone. She’d build a palace where men and women would be welcome to seek an audience. The streets would be clean and fresh and littered with signs of joy and life. No one would be ashamed to walk them. The city in her head could never be the one before her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will not be Queen of the ashes. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d said those words aloud and to herself many times. What was the point in travelling for so long to rule over a kingdom of desolation? Death and decay were that of the old but she was new. She wasn’t her father, nor those who had gone before with their inclination towards madness. Even as she stood atop that </span>
  <span>cliffedge</span>
  <span> and looked down, she knew that couldn’t be her. Destroying the city would be easy. One word and fire would devour it just as it does all else. Letting it live was the true challenge. It needed to be cultivated into prosperity. That was what scared her the most. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was not the fall from the dragon that made her fly away, but the fear – the fear of herself. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We won’t stop in Essos. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want to stop there. There was nothing for her in those bright cities. Land beyond called out to her. Lands she’d long left. Westeros was saved but the same could not be said for Slaver’s Bay. The cities built on slavery had not cast it aside as easily as she imagined. Even as she fought it off, the stench of human cattle slunk through the streets, persistent as ever. Then she’d left and she supposed the old masters had returned to their trades. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was land ahead of them now. She urged </span>
  <span>Drogon</span>
  <span> to dip lower as they passed over ports, bustling in the morning business. Men stopped and shouted as the shadow of wings blotted out the sun and she saw eyes raised to her in silent appreciation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She’d seen that look before. Back when her dragons, all three, were the size of dogs, when she couldn’t rely on their strength to fight her battles. Still, the slaves she freed looked up to her with the same wonderment in their eyes like they were seeing the sun for the very first time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The called me mother. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The cries of mother used to come to her in dreams and she’d awake with a feeling of warmth. Their calls reminded her of her purpose, of who Daenerys Targaryen was. She hadn’t dreamt in such a long time but now their voices filled her head again. The slaves were singing out to her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What choice do I have but to answer? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Queen, my Lady, is dead.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria Sand was lounging in the gardens of Sunspear, enjoying the rays of suns that were to be their last for some time. She preferred to hold audiences outside in the open where men would fear to say anything troublesome. She extended her foot in front of her and examined it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Which one?’ She drawled with a quirk of her eyebrow. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The messenger didn’t appear to appreciate the joke. ‘Cersei Lannister.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria fought to hide her grin. ‘What a shame.’ She shook her head. ‘And with our plans together? A true waste of a woman... anything more?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tyrion Lannister sits on the throne. Daenerys Targaryen is said to have disappeared just before taking the crown. He’s taken it as her Hand.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria swept a length of dark hair behind her ear. ‘And what of Sansa Stark?’ She spat out the Northern bitch’s name like a curse. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She has returned North with her men.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘She did not stay long?’ She mused, not expecting the messenger-boy to respond. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Interesting-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Nymeria</span>
  <span> was sighted in King’s Landing too. I haven’t heard if she left with the Northerners or remained in the Keep.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria felt hot bile rise in her throat at the mention of the </span>
  <span>sandsnake’s</span>
  <span> name. Nymeria Sand, the second eldest daughter of her paramour, had betrayed them and ran away to aid the Northern Queen. Obara was a poor replacement for her own Tyene. Ellaria’s own child was worth both of them but was returned to her still and bloody, her beautiful body mangled by someone’s knife. Arya Stark’s knife. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Duplicity runs in their blood. They have the blood of savages, old blood, and do not know the importance of decorum and wit over brute force. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa Stark had damned herself when </span>
  <span>Oberyn</span>
  <span> died in her company, Arya only sealed both sister’s fates with her murders. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What now?’ Obara stepped from the side, spear against the ground. Her dark eyes lacked enthusiasm. She’d lost energy since her sister had left them both. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We cannot march North.’ She settled, pushing herself up and resting her hands in her lap. ‘We would not reach the North by land for fear of the Lannister forces and we cannot risk the waters either with the Iron fleet alongside them.’ She thought of their only measly fleet of ships. Prince Doran had let most of their forces wither away alongside him. She intended to return the kingdom to its glory. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>So,</span>
  <span> we wait?’ Obara placed her free hand on her hip. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘For a time-’ Ellaria knew how infuriating waiting could be. Her and her Oberyn had waited for years for Doran to do anything for his murdered sister. She was not to fall in the same trap. ‘But we won’t be still. Westeros doesn’t know the meaning of peace. Something will happen and we will seize the opportunity.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sansa Stark cannot stay North forever. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>What about Trystane? What do we do if he wants to come back, to know about his sister?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Trystane</span>
  <span> Martell posed a tricky problem. He was, technically, the rightful Prince of Dorne yet she’d taken power herself when Arianne was removed. She knew well enough she had no real claim but she’d built herself up long enough for no one to question her when she took up the role. They still called her Lady, never Princess, but that was better than the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>harlet</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>she was used to. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘We will tell him the truth. His sister lives but we don’t know where. That boy respects the order of things too much. He’ll go off hunting for her and we’ll sit pretty. We can pray he never finds her, pray that she’s done the smart thing and taken to the seas.’ Ellaria Sand rubbed her hands together and stood from her seat. She was beginning to tire from the heat of the day. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Our day will come.’ She assured with a bright smile. ‘I will have Sansa Stark’s head and my love will finally be avenged.’ She picked up her net skirts, nodded to her guard and swept from the gardens. A thought lingered in her mind as she walked the sandstone halls towards the Royal chambers she had installed herself in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What sort of man is Tyrion Lannister? </span>
  </em>
  <span>That would determine what sort of King he’d be. She’d heard stories of the dwarf from </span>
  <span>Casterly</span>
  <span> Rock, the shame of the proud </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span> who spent his days in brothels or passed out from drink. Yet now he sat upon the Iron Throne with the realm at his bidding. Such men could be easily used to her advantage but, if he shared his sister’s wile-</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Time will tell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminded herself. However much she dreaded it, they would have to wait. Nothing would ever be truly settled and something had to change. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And when it does, I will be there.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Father?’ The room was dank and dark, even if the city beyond was still layered in Autumn sun. She pushed the iron door open at a call within, clutching a letter closely to her chest. She’d been taught well not to trust anyone in these foreign lands so everything she did became its own secretive mission. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>My dear.’ He smiled to see her and stretched out his arms in greeting. The smile faded quickly and his brow creased as he scanned across the papers splayed across the table before him. He wiped a hand across his head, dark hair beginning to thin, and grumbled at the heat. ‘A letter, what does it say?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned. ‘I haven’t read it. It’s for you.’ She held it out for him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Can you not read?’ His voice was barely a growl. His mood had been foul for many months now and showed no signs of improvement. ‘Don’t tell me you wasted that time with the </span>
  <span>maesters</span>
  <span>.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>No father,’ she replied quickly, ‘but I didn’t want to intrude on your matters.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed loudly and shook his head. ‘You are my heir, child. You will take my place in this damned world soon enough. My matters are your matters from now on. You’re old enough now and it seems unlikely your mother will give me a son. Read it to me.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The mention of her mother was a jab in her side. Her mother stayed many leagues away, refusing to let go of what was lost to them. She’d tried on several occasions to send men to track her down but she had family enough to shield her from wandering eyes. That was something they lacked, fiercely. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She broke the seal of the envelope and opened it up. Knowing her father’s short patience, she cast her eyes over the contents first quickly so she could summarise. Even then, she couldn’t help but take great pauses as she read. The news within was unlike anything they’d had before. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cersei Lannister is dead.’ She began. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her father laughed aloud and clapped his hands together. ‘Thank the Seven! What more? Who did it?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Her brother, Ser Jaime,’ she continued. ‘He was with the Northern forces when they took the city. The Queen Myrcella was also killed in the skirmish.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A shame,’ his laughter fell away, ‘she was a good child- close to your age. A shame she was never truly Robert’s. Is the Targaryen Queen?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ she spoke carefully. She dreaded her father’s reaction to the next bit of news. She didn’t fear he would hurt her, she never did, but she knew his anger had no true bounds. ‘Tyrion Lannister has taken the throne in her </span>
  <span>place,</span>
  <span> it does not say where she is.’ She braced herself for an explosion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He remained serene but his mouth curled into a snarl and she held her breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘The dwarf? Are you certain?’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aye,’ she quickly checked over the words and nodded, ‘it says he is ruling the South for three years until Daenerys comes back. If she does not in that time, a new King will be selected.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes lit up at that and she relaxed. ‘Well then, this is good news. The </span>
  <span>Lannisters</span>
  <span> have given us time to prepare. Three years will be enough. When they call this ‘King’s moot’ or whatever it shall be, we shall return to Westeros and stake our claim once more.’ He reached out and grasped at her hand. She stumbled forward, taken by surprise by his sudden touch. ‘We shall go </span>
  <span>together,</span>
  <span> it will be difficult but-’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘But the Six Kingdoms, belong to you.’ She finished, proudly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Six Kingdoms?’ He released her hand and blinked up at her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well the North has declared its independence. Sansa Stark stands as their Queen.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled darkly and his stormy blue eyes met her brighter ones. ‘Declared its independence to who? Certainly not the King. The North shall only find itself its own kingdom through me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seven </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kingdoms.’ His eyes turned back to the papers and she had a feeling their conversation was over. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do we do about the Starks then?’ She asked quietly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I shall offer their Queen the same as I offered her brother many years ago. She can serve under me as </span>
  <span>Wardeness</span>
  <span> with substantial power or I will not </span>
  <span>hesitate</span>
  <span> to remind her people who is their true ruler. I respected her father and I deeply regret what happened to him, so I hope she shares his practical wisdom.’ </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down upon her father and felt her stomach clasp. He was stone. He always had been and she didn’t see him changing his ways. She’d hoped the fresh climate of </span>
  <span>Bravvos</span>
  <span> would brighten him up yet he moved around the world like a gargoyle brought to life – jaw clenched and brow constantly furrowed in deep thought. She admired him for his stoic perseverance but she wondered whether it was the best path to take. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It failed to serve him before, when we were last in Westeros, why should it win out this time? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Still, she had to remind herself, three years was a long time. Her father appeared so dark because he was still angered that they had to flee the land he called his own. She’d seen him briefly elated at the news that they still had a chance- perhaps as time drew closer, his mood would improve. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, father.’ She bowed her head and turned towards the door, leaving the letter behind for him to inspect, as he always did. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shireen?’ He called out to her. She spun back around and faced him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘You shall be Queen one day. I promise you that. Don’t forget it, ever.’ His hand was curled into fist on the table. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you shall be King before me.’ She smiled warmly, hoping for another glimpse of his softer side. She was unlucky. Stannis Baratheon had lost his softer side many years ago. Some would say he never had one. He would say it was stolen from him. Stolen by the brother that gave their youngest brother Storm’s End, stolen by the brother who soiled his marriage bed with a Florent girl, stolen by the brother who wedded a Lannister and was too fool to see the Lioness for what she truly was. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘King of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seven </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kingdoms.’ He repeated. ‘And I will not let a </span>
  <em>
    <span>usurper </span>
  </em>
  <span>say otherwise.’ </span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's the end of the second part of the series. Thank you to everyone for sticking with the story and for all the lovely comments. There will be one more part in this series - The Danger of Fair Maidens in Love - so keep an eye out</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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